The musketeers adventures
by Vivien99
Summary: Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan have experienced a lot in their lifes. They fought, loved, laughed and did so many other things I can't even list them all. Here are some of their Storys... made up by you, written by me! Lots of whump, hurt and comfort; some funny, romantic and adventurous Stories. Your reviews and ideas are welcomed.
1. Chapter 1

So since I'm in a very creative phase at the moment and totally in love with the musketeers, I would love to try something different and write a few One-Shots and Shortstorys, based on the ideas and wishes of you.

I'm open for nearly everything. Just comment what you have always wished for and I try my best to bring it alive!  
As you may have already noticed, Aramis is my favorite one. Still I see forward to write about the others too. Of course I will accept request for miner characters too! Just give me your ideas in the reviews for this chapter…

I hope you excuse miner mistakes, because English isn't my first language. I'm thankful for every kind of help and suggestions!

If you would like to have crossovers or something else, just ask. If I can I will try everything!

 _P.S.: I will also except german requests._


	2. Lost

_So " Jmp " wished for Aramis, hurt and completely lost in a foreign country and the others desperately searching for him.  
I hope you like it!_

He stumbled through the woods, holding onto every tree and bough he got a grip. His vision was blurry and every breath hurt. Aramis tried orientate onto the moss, hoping that it will be the right direction. After, what felt like hours, he finally saw the end of the woods. The musketeer was nearly running, which just increased the pain. But the joy of finally having a chance to find some civilization overwhelmed him. He went over a small field of grass before he met with a road. "God bless you." He mumbled, following the lane. As it was about to get dark outside he finally saw a small house at the horizon. He tried his best to get there fast, his wounds holding him back unfortunately. But Aramis fought through the pain, which claimed his whole body by now and made it to the inn at sunset. He pushed the door open and stumbled into the house, leaning against the next wall he found. His look searched the room and found a man, thin and tall. He served a few guests and then made his way up to Aramis.

"Was ist denn mit Ihnen passiert?" The landlord asked in a foreign language. German, Aramis guessed. "I need a room for the night," he tried in French nevertheless. The tall man looked at him confused, trying to understand something from the words. As Aramis noticed the german wouldn't understand he tried in Spanish, hoping the landlord would maybe get one or two words. "Necesito una habitciòn para la noche, por favor."

"Es tut mir leid, ich verstehen sie nicht." The man excused for not understanding the french stranger. But he didn't seem as polite as before, since he had noticed Aramis was from france. The German wasn't very inclined to the French, and neither were the French to the German. While Aramis tried to search for the right words in latin or any other language he once has heard, the man pointed at the door. "Nein." The musketeer understood this one for sure. He sighed and wanted to discuss this, but the man looked angry by now, so he decided it was the best to leave.

Aramis walked out and looked for a place he could sleep at. At least it was spring, so it wasn't that cold in the night and sleeping outside wouldn't be his biggest problem. The musketeer soon found a small cabin. Some planks weren't there anymore and the door wouldn't close completely. There was a small table inside and a broken bedframe. Aramis even found a half-burned candle, which he lit.

Even if his body wanted nothing more than to sleep, he needed to stay awake a little bit longer. Slowly he removed his clothes, until he stood there only in his briefs. With the candle in the one hand, he looked over his wounds. Most of them were just bruises and cuts, but his rips and his leg bothered him. He was sure that one of his rips was broken and another one sprained. The sprained one maybe hurt as hell, but the broken one could be life threatening if it pierced through his lungs. Unfortunately the medic couldn't do much about it now. He just had to hope and move carefully. However he could deal at least with the gaping wound in his thigh. Maybe not as good as he would like to, but he could stop the bleeding. So he took his shirt and ripped it into pieces, which he bound around his leg. He had nothing with him to disinfect the wound, so Aramis had to hope the wound wouldn't cause an infection.

After the medic has had made sure that he probably won't die in his sleep, he laid down on the floor carefully. Because of his broken rib he was only able to lie on the back and hoped that he wouldn't turn in his sleep.

 _12 hours earlier…_

"What do you mean he just disappeared?!" Porthos shouted, clenching his fists. "I don't know. He said he would bring this woman home, but would be back in the morning…" D'Artagnan ran a hand through his messy hair. "He's probably still with there, no need to worry. Do you know anything about the woman, d'Artagnan?" Athos remained calm. It wasn't something unusual for Aramis and had happened many times. It was just unusual, 'cause it happened in Germany. Not even the women here are save from him, he thought amused.

The gascon struggled with the strange name. "She was called something like _Hoffmann_."

Porthos was the first one who went out. They didn't speak the language, only new a few words, so they just asked for "Frau Hoffmann?" anyone who came along. The most shook their head confused or scared. Finally a young girl, she was 13 at most, smiled and pointed down the street. She also told them something more, which no one understood. Still they thanked her and went where she has gestured.

"Can I help you, Messieurs?" A man asked them with a thick accent. He was fat and ugly, and showed yellow teeth while he smiled. "We're searching for a Madame Hoffmann." D'Artagnan explained, happily to have found someone who spoke their language. The fat man nod and scratched his chin. "She lives in the house on the corner right there. But I don't think she is at home today. Her husband and her rode away a few hours ago."

"Were they alone?" Athos asked curiously. The German shrugged his shoulders, "don't know." He eyed up the three musketeers, until his gaze stopped at the moneybag at Porthos belt. Porthos sighed, giving the man two coins. "No go on."

"I saw a man and her entering the house at night. Haven't seen him leave by now. But the Hoffmans had a wagon with them… I could swear that there was someone inside. They said they would ride to the next city to a big market."

Athos asked for further directions and as they knew where to go, the Musketeers ran to their horses. They didn't know what had happened to their friend or why, but they needed to find him soon.

 _Now…_

It was a short rest his body has had, as Aramis woke up by sunrise. He sat up slowly, groaning as a sharp pain raised from his ribs. He took a look at his thigh, where the bandage was dark red by now. He needed to stitch the wound soon or he will bleed out. Aramis stood up, holding on to the table beside him. He felt weaker than yesterday, which he ascribed to the blood loss. He left the cabin and looked around, not sure where to go. He tried to remember in which direction the town was he came from, but couldn't. But then the musketeer remembered how he was brought out of the town last morning. He may was bound, gagged and blindfolded but was able to feel the sun shining into the wagon from the left side at first, but soon it felt like it came from the back. It wasn't much of information and he wasn't sure of his senses were right, still the marksman decided to walk into the east.

He didn't made it far, until his leg gave in and his lungs burned. Aramis sat down at a tree, trying to catch his breath. His vision was blurry by now, everything around him seemed so far away and his pain so near. He closed his eyes, trying to find a solution for his problems. But his mind was twisted and so he didn't know what to do anymore. He wasn't able to stand up again, he didn't know where he was or if someone would ever come along this way. He had to hope and pray.

 _24 hours ago…_

Aramis woke up with a smile on his face as he looked at the beautiful woman in his arms. "Caro", he whispered, as he kissed her neck gently. He didn't want to leave but he had to. They were supposed to be in Hamburg by evening to give important letters to one of their royal familys. They had to be very important, if musketeers were trusted with this task. For safety everyone of them had one of the four letters.

Caro smiled and kissed her lover, before she sat up and onto his chest. "Don't go." She bit her lip seductively. Oh, Aramis wanted to stay so bad, but he had a duty to fulfill. "I would love to, but I-"

"You stay." Her voice was just as sharp as the knives she hold onto his throat. Aramis was confused, still he looked for his weapons. They laid on the floor at the other side of the room. Great. "Okay, keep calm." He lifted his hands carefully. "Whatever it is, I'm sure we can talk about it."

"Oh I think so." The door of the bedroom has opened and a blonde man in a expensive looking suit came in. Monsieur Hoffmann, Aramis guessed. Aramis used the moment in which Caro looked at her husband to take her knife and throw her off.

"You thought so, huh?" Hoffman hold up a gun and pointed it at Aramis, then he waved in two more men. Aramis sighed as he noticed that he had no chance at all and let the weapon fall. The two men grabbed him immediately and threw him onto the floor. There, his hands were bound behind his back and he was brought up again.

"So here's the plan. We can take it easy on you or the hard way. What do you like?"  
Monsieur Hoffman came up to Aramis who struggled in the tight grip of the two men. "What is this about?"

Hoffman smiled. "You don't know? Oh let me explain. You and your friends have an important letter with you. I want it. It's simple, you see?"

Aramis shook his head, saying he wouldn't know what he even meant.

Soon, he found himself on the ground again. The two men beat and kicked him until he spitted out blood. "Do you want to tell us now where the letter is?" _The letter._ Hoffmann clearly only knew from one of the four secret letters, which comforted Aramis at least a little bit. Even if they found the paper on him, they wouldn't have everything they were supposed to deliver. Moreover he had a chance to be let go then and get his brothers to arrest Hoffmann. Aramis shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking from."

Hoffmann grew angrier and told his guards something in german. They lifted Aramis up, and just as the marksman regained the strength to hold his weight alone a sharp pain spread from his thigh through his whole body. Shocked, he looked down and saw a knife stuck in his flesh. He let out a pained groan, desperately too not scream in front of these men. One of the guards twisted the knife slowly, until Aramis couldn't hold it back anymore. He screamed and then sank together.

Aramis was gagged and blindfolded, before the guards dragged him down. He regained consciousness as he was thrown into a wagon.  
"We will bring him into the woods. If he hasn't died till then, he will there."

"And the letters?" Caro asked.

"We have to search for the others. We didn't find it as we searched through his things."

 _Now…_

"Athos, d'Artagnan! Look!" Porthos made his horse stop and pointed at a wagon, which was still a few miles away. It was the first time they meet someone on this lonely road and the possibility that it were the Hoffmanns weren't that small. The musketeers turned and hit in the woods, where they hoped to stay unseen.

The wagon came nearer and soon it was right in front of them. "Now!" Athos shouted and ran out of their hideout. Porthos and the Gascon followed him, weapons armed. The wagon hold, but instead to surrender, the man shot at Athos. The bullet missed his head just a few inches. This was the death sentence for the man. Porthos shot first, hitting him in the chest. He was dead immediately. The woman screamed and cried. D'Artagnan dragged her down from the wagon, his gun still pointed at her. "Who are you?" 

The woman stuttered until she told them her name. Caro Hoffmann. D'Artagnan tightened his grip on her. "What have you done to Aramis?" Caro didn't stop crying and just shook her head. Her look laid on her dead husband. "Tell us or we will kill you too."  
Still, she didn't answer.

Athos sighed and bound her to the wagon, next to her husband. "We will take care of her later. We have to search for Aramis. He has to be somewhere near."

It was nearly evening as they finally saw a silhouette leaning against a tree. Porthos dismounted and ran up to the lifeless figure. "Aramis. Aramis, mon Ami." The big man shook him carefully, trying to wake him up.

Aramis eyes fluttered open, though his vision was blurred he recognized his brothers. "You've found me." It was nothing more than a whisper, but they heard it. "Of course we did."

Athos kneeled beside the medic and looking at his wounds. "We need to get you to a doctor. Now."


	3. I'm fine

" Aramis1910 " has wished for Aramis, who was badly hurt in a fight but didn't tell the others.

It tried my best, hope it's enough!

 **I'm fine**

"I hate haunts." D'Artagnan sighed. The others agreed with him. When the king wanted to haunt it meant that nearly the whole regiment and men from the r3ed guard needed to come with, to make sure he was safe. The musketeers rode on ahead, controlling the wood before the others would come to. When everything was okay, one of them had to ride back to let the guards know.

It seemed like a good day, not many traitors were on their way to the town. It was an exhausting and boring work to control everyone who came along their way.

"Okay it seems save. I will ride back now," Porthos announced, turning his horse around.  
"Wait." Aramis whispered, holding his hand up. He listened carefully, the other hand laid on the handle of his gun. He nod into the direction he had heard the sound from. D'Artagnan dismounted as quiet as possible and gave his reins to Athos, before walking through the thicket. He was out of their sight, as the remaining musketeers heard the familiar sound of metal on metal. They also dismounted and ran after d'Artagnan, to find him in a hard fight with three men.

Athos was just about to fight one of them, as more men came out of nowhere. What seemed as an easy fight then, was now a dangerous situation for the musketeers. They were outnumbered at least three to one and their attackers seemed to have learned how to fight properly.

After d'Artagnan killed one of his opponents and warded off a blow from another from, he risked a gaze to his brothers. Porthos has already killed two men and now fought against two more. His unnatural strength seemed to be a problem for the fast, but thin and weak attackers. Athos caught the gascons attention, as he lout out a loud groan and let his sword fall. Happily he was able to catch it with his left hand just in time. His other arm hang down useless while he kept on fighting with his weaker one. He still was a better fight than most of the men here, nevertheless d'Artagnan feared for the hurt musketeer. His left arm will get tired soon. The gascon tried to hurry up to help his friend. He got one last look at Aramis, who seemed to have his fun with his three colossal opponents. They were nearly as big and muscular as Porthos, but that was never a problem for the fast marksman. It was a dance for him. Though D'Artagnan knew that it wasn't too easy for him at the moment. Otherwise he would have killed one or two already.

The Gascon focused back on his fight, desperate to end it soon. Head over heart, he remembered. He watched his attacker, as he lunged out for another blow. D'Artagnan hit him right into the heart.

The fight was long and exhausting, but the musketeers won. Aramis looked at the death men, kissing his crucifix before he returned to the others. His vision was a bit blurry and he felt like a fire burned in his stomach. He shove away the pain and concentrated on his brothers. Porthos and d'Artagnan seemed unharmed, except for a few bruises. But Athos arm didn't look good. It was sliced up from his shoulder down to his elbow. It would need a stitching now.

D'Artagnan ran back to the horses and brought them to the battlefield. He was glad that the animals were used to the sounds of fights and stayed at their places, even when not bound.

Aramis took out his medic kit and kneeled in front of Athos, which caused another weave of pain to roll through his upper body. He clenched his jar, desperate to not show the others that he's hurt. They just would be concerned and would want to treat him right away. They hadn't the time for this. The king would be waiting by now and the king didn't like to wait. Athos seemed to think the same as he ordered Porthos and D'Artagnan to ride back and report what had happened. Aramis and Athos would meet them back in the garrison, now that the haunt will probably be stopped.

Knowing that Athos was in good hands, the two musketeers rode off. Aramis cut off Athos sleeve to have a better view on the wound. The medic disinfected it, which caused Athos to hiss in pain. "It won't get better," Aramis smiled pitying. "Just go on," Athos muttered, clenching his eyes shut as Aramis made the first stitch.

Aramis was thankful that the swordsman was able to keep still, otherwise he would have had to hit him unconsciousness. After twelve stitches the marksman was satisfied with his work and stood up again. As he turned his back to Athos and walked over to their horses, he groaned as quiet as possible. He knew Athos would need a few moments to come after him, so he risked to touch his stomach carefully. His hand got red, the blood was already soaking through his shirt. Fortunately Aramis wore black today, so it wouldn't be seen to soon. He mounted up before Athos reached him, so he could hide the pain he was in while doing so.

Athos made it onto his horse alone, luckily. Aramis didn't know if he would have been able to help his friend. They rode slowly and carefully. Aramis didn't want to risk that his perfect needlework would be ripped open, he explained to Athos.

Back at the garrison they found out that d'Artagnan and Porthos were already back. They waited at the court for them. Athos dismounted with the help of Porthos, while Aramis thought about he could get back down. The world around him was spinning and he feared that he would fall down if he moved just a little bit. His arms felt weak, too weak to hold him while he dismounted.

"Aramis, you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine." The marksman sighed, before swinging one leg over the back of the horse. This movement caused enough pain that Aramis let go of his horse and fell down. As his back with the ground hard, he let out a small groan. Just a second later Porthos kneeled beside him. "What happened, Mis?"

"Just wasn't careful enough." Aramis muttered, trying to sit up. But once again pain exploded in him and he fell back. "Look at his hands!" D'Artagnan pointed at the bloodied hand of Aramis, searching for the wound instantly.

"Where is the blood from, Aramis?" Athos asked concerned as he watched his brother getting paler with every minute. "Stomach." Aramis clenched his eyes shut as another wave of pain took hold of him. Porthos ripped his shirt open to reveal the shocking wound. A hole gaped in the medics stomach, letting a lot of blood escape.

"Go get a doctor," Athos ordered another musketeer. Porthos took his friends head and put it onto his lap. Aramis was getting so tired, but he knew he wasn't allowed to flee into the comforting darkness. He maybe wouldn't wake up again. "Keep me awake," he muttered, clenching his fingers around D'Artagnans hand. Porthos started to tell random stories, while running his hand through his brothers hair. Everytime Aramis closed his eyes, he slapped him slightly.

Finally the doctor arrived and took a look at the wound. "It need to be stitched," he explained. "Would never have guessed that," Aramis whispered and tried to put on a weak smile, which ended in a grimace. "I need to do it here, we can't risk to move him. I don't know what's hurt inside him." The others nod in agreement, while the doctor searches for his supplies.

"This will burn a little bit now," he informed as he pured alcohol onto the wound. Aramis screamed and dug his nails into the Gascons hand. "Hold him down." The doctor ordered. Porthos held down Aramis shoulder, while D'Artagnan took his legs. Athos held onto Aramis' hands. The medic tried to hold back screams of pain as he's flicked together. Instead of this he let's out a lot of curses. The musketeers sigh in relief as the marksman fells unconscious.

After the doctor bandaged the wound, Aramis is brought into his room. The others has long left, as Porthos decides to go and get some water. "Porthos," Aramis mumbled, as the colossus was about to open the door. "Yes, mon Ami?" He rushes over to his friend. He has lost a lot of blood, the doctor had said. "How are you, Aramis?"

"I'm fine."

Porthos chuckled, shaking his head. "You said that just before you fell from your horse."


	4. Had a hat on my head

This one is for " DebzAnstey4 " who wished for the boys meeting again after the series ended. D'Artagnan was supposed to take a big role in it.

 **Had a hat on my head**

Aramis put the letter into a boy and closed it, the key for it hang around his neck. Finally it was over. The war had an end.  
The first minister decided that it would be the right time to take a day off. He can't remember a day on which he hadn't worked since he got the job. Now he would give himself a day without any work. He first thought about spending it with Anne and their son, but then a better idea came to his mind. He would go and visit D'Artagnan. Aramis needed a day without the palace and with his friend. Oh, how he wished Porthos and Athos would be there too.

D'artagnan just came out of his room, as he felt the old metal of a gun against his head. What idiot would dare to attack the Captain of the musketeers right in their garrison?  
"Scared?" The rough voice laughed, then the gun was released from his head. D'Artagnan smiled as he noticed the familiar sound. He turned around and hugged Porthos tight. "You're back!" Porthos seemed to be bigger and stronger than before, if it was possible. He had a new scar on his neck, long and bulging. "You look good." Porthos smiled and tipped d'Artagnan hat.

Aramis just arrived at the garrison, as Porthos and d'Artagnan walked down to the stairs. You could see the surprise in the first ministers eyes as he watched his best friend walk up to him. But Aramis wasn't just surprised, he was relieved. He had always feared for the general, as he fought in the war. Aramis always scared to never see him again. Everyday when he read over the lists of the fallen ones, he prayed to not read Porthos name. They both hugged long until Aramis finally greeted d'Artagnan. "Looks like you're liking to wear your hat by now" he commented.

D'Artagnan laughed and nod. He was right. At first he didn't like the hat at all. It annoyed him that he had to lay his head back into the neck to see the sky, it annoyed him to have something on his head all the time. He had only wore it because it was a present from his brothers. But with the time he started to like it. It felt wrong to live a room without his hat on. He liked that it protected him from the sun and most important: it looked good on him. Even Constance loved it.

They sat down on a table and made Porthos tell about what had happened. He started at how he left for war and went on over all the battles they have won. "And then we got these letter from our beloved first minister," he smirked at Aramis, "The war was over. We didn't celebrate. We broke down our tents immediately and made us on the way back home. And here I stand."

"You never was good storyteller." The three men turned around, seeing Athos standing in the entrance of the garrison. "Athos!" They jumped up and greeted their friend with long hugs. "This must be fate. All four of us back in the garrison on the same day." Aramis smiled bigger than he has in months. He couldn't remember a happier day.

"We should go and grab a drink," the captain of the Musketeers suggested and so the four brothers went out. Athos told them how they heard about the war has ended and that a great feast was planned in Paris. Aramis nod knowingly. "I thought it would be the perfect time to show my son the capital." He explained. That Athos had a son was no surprise for anyone. They all wrote letters with each other. "He must be four by now, am I right?" Porthos asked. He nearly had to scream, because the wind got harder and so loud it took in every noise. Aramis hold onto his head, but d'Artagnan wasn't fast enough. It flew away and over the roofs of Paris. "Oh no!" The gascon tried to run after it but it was hopeless. The hat was lost. Aramis shook his head reproachful. "You still have a lot to learn, Captain."

D'Artagnan pouted as they walked into their favorite tavern. "We will find you a new hat." Athos said and ordered wine for all of them. "But I want this one." The former musketeers laughed, as he sounded like a child. Porthos decided to change the topic. "How's Constance?"  
A light lit up in his eyes as he told his brothers about her. She was pregnant and their child would be born soon. "The doctor say it won't be longer than a month."

And so the evening went on. Porthos talked about Elodie and her child. Athos told them that he and Sylvie had bought a farmhouse in a small town not that far away from Paris and about his son, who has already learned how to fight with a sword. D'Artagnan spoke about the new recruits and how he had lost too many men in the war. Aramis felt guilty. He was the one who ordered the troops to spain. He didn't want to but he had to. The first minister told the others how he and Anne are planning to marry as soon as Louis is old enough to rule alone. If he allows that.

It was already dark outside as the former musketeers left the tavern. "I'm starving," Porthos admitted, rubbing his stomach. "Let us eat at the palace. Get Constance, Sylvie and Elodie and we will meet there." Aramis suggested. The others accepted his invitation thankful.

Half an hour later d'Artagnan and the pregnant Constance arrived in front of the Louvre. It didn't last long till Porthos and Elodie arrived and Athos, Sylvie and their son Michel came not long after them. Aramis lead them through the corridors into the dining hall. "The queen and the dauphin will be here soon, too."

They all took a seat at the long table, waiting for the meals and the majesty. As the door opened everyone stood up to bow down. Anne smiled and ignored everything she's learned as queen to hug every single one of them. "I'm so happy my loyal musketeers are back and doing well. You will always be welcomed in the palace with kindness and gratitude."

"Where's the dauphin?" Aramis asked as they sat down again. "He is practicing swordplay, he will come as soon as he's finished." In the time of waiting they all drank a few more glasses of wine.

Then, finally, the dauphin arrived. He ran into the dining hall, waving with something in his hands. "Mamà look what I've found. Monsieur Rousseau says I'm allowed to keep it." Louis put on the hat happily, earning amused looks from the former musketeers. Only D'Artagnan looked shocked. Aramis laughed, before he stood up and kneeled in front of his son. "My majesty, this hat belongs to Monsieur D'Artagnan, the Captain of the Musketeers. I'm sure he would be happy if you wore his head, but I think it would be an act of big kindness if you would return his hat to him. You will get one of mine, if you like."

The Dauphin looked back and forth from his hat to Aramis over to d'Artagnan until he nod. With his small legs he ran over to the Captain and placed the hat on his head. "If it's yours it will be yours." He announced as solemny as a king.

D'Artagnan laughed and thanked him, fixing the hat.


	5. Captured (1)

First of all thank you for all your lovely reviews!

" Guest 1 " has wished for a story that takes place after season 3. D'Artagnan and Elodie are kidnapped leaving Aramis and Constance to search for them

Since it seemed to fit, I wrote it in Connection of the last chapter "Had a hat on my head".

It got longer than I thought, so I will post it in two parts!  
Here you go...

 **Captured (1)**

It was nearly midnight and only the four former musketeers were left in the royal dining hall.  
Porthos just had told how he got his newest scar, the ugly one on his neck. He was attacked in his tents while he slepped by a Spanish spy. Luckily the General woke up in the right moment. He had always slept with a gun under his pillow and was glad that he reacted fast enough. He may got an ugly scar but his opponent was dead within a few seconds. "And what's about this one, Captain?" Porthos laughed and pointed at a small scar at D'Artagnans temple.

"Oh that's a long story." He locked eyes with Aramis, who seemed unsure whether they should tell the story or not. Porthos lifted one eyebrow, "we have time."

Aramis sighed and put his hat onto the table. "Okay okay. We will tell. But you have to promise that you won't freak out." General du Vallon got more skeptical with every minute, wondering what this was all about. He nod, watching his bothers carefully. Even Athos, who was nearly asleep a few moments ago, seemed to be curious by now.

D'Artagnan sighed, took one last sip of his wine before he started.

"It was a few month ago. Constance and I were on our way to Elodie. You know we looked after her every now and then. As we arrived the door stand wide open. Elodie was always so careful, so it had to mean trouble. Constance waited a few houses away, while I entered. I called for Elodie, but no one answered. I heard a glass break, so I ran into the kitchen. I was careless as I ran into the room without making sure that it was safe. Guess I forgot "head over heart" for a few seconds. I saw how Elodie was hold down by two men, she was already bound and gagged. Before I could react I was hit on the head and fell unconscious. That's where the scar is from."

D'Artagnan saw how Porthos tensed up more and more and was glad that he at least stayed silent. Aramis went on with the story, as he noticed the Captain struggle.

"Constance came into the palace just a few minutes later. She saw men leave the house with d'Artagnan and Elodie. She had no chance to help them as she were alone, so she contacted me. But there was no sign where the attackers could have gone, who they were or why they kidnapped Elodie and D'Artagnan. First we thought they just wanted Elodie, but they would have killed d'Artagnan if they didn't want him. I talked to everyone I thought could help, but no one knew something. We had nothing, so there was nothing we could have done at the moment."

The Gascon looked at Aramis, who seemed very harassed that he wasn't able to help his friend sooner. "It wasn't your fault. These men were good. I woke up in a dark and cold cell a few hours later, as Elodie said. She wasn't hurt, so don't worry Porthos." D'Artagnan massaged his temple as if the headache he had them would come back with the memories. _He remembered how lost he had felt, as he stumbled through the cell searching for a way out. There were no windows, the door was so big it probably needed two men to open it. Furthermore his and Elodie's hands were bound. "Did they say anything to you? What they want?" The Captain of the Musketeers asked the young woman. She shook her head, before she noticed it was too dark to see her moves. "No." As if they had heard him, the heavy door opened. D'Artagnan backed away watching how five men entered the room. They were all dressed in black, their faces hid behind masks. It was silent for a moment, before D'Artagnan spoke. "What do you want from us?"_

 _The man who stood in the front was the tallest one of all of them. He was the leader, the Gascon guessed. "As you won't come out of here alive I guess I can tell you. We have men of us already spread in the palace, military and the musketeers. But we need them in the most important positions."_

 _"So you kidnap me to replace me with your man? Don't believe that this would work. The first minister won't let any criminal to be the Captain of The musketeers."_

 _"We know that, of course. Monsieur Aramis knows people well and he knows he can trust and whom not. Because of that we will need to replace him, too."_

 __ _"_ _It won't work. Aramis is guarded much better than me. You won't get him that easy." D'Artagnan took a few steps forward to his captors. "But let's suppose all of this works… why do you need to kidnap an innocent woman and mother?"_

 _"_ _Here we come to the fun part of the story. We had heard that General du Vallon has a special interest in this woman. With her we will get him and the First Minister too."_

"Why haven't you told me about this?!" Porthos stood by now, rage shown on his face.  
"If we did, they would have gotten their will. They wanted that you will come to save Elodie so they would capture you too. And if this happened, I would have had no other choice then to accept their demands to save you." Aramis put a hand onto Porthos shoulder so that he would sit back down again.

"The next day I worked through the letters that were supposed to be sent to our soldiers in Spain. I always controlled the ones that were addressed to one of the Generals or others in charge. The kidnappers probably didn't know that I already knew about the hijack, otherwise they wouldn't have written the letter in the name of Elodie. I knew it couldn't have been from her, so I opened it and read through it. They said they would let her go if they got you in an exchange. I kept the letter, knowing that you would have done everything to save Elodie. But this would just have been the death of both of you." Aramis watched how is nod understanding. Porthos knew that the first minister was right, so he tried to calm down again.

"Then I got a letter for myself. They wanted one thousand livre in an exchange for d'Artagnan. There stood nothing from Elodie. I was supposed to deliver it myself and alone the next day."

"You did?" Athos asked curious.

"I'm not stupid Athos. I already supposed that it was a trap. I went to Constance and told her everything I knew, before we both thought about a way how we could get d'Artagnan and Elodie back." _Aramis smirked as he remembered how Constance planned to just walk into – wherever her husband and Eldoie were – and kill everyone by herself. The first minister convinced her that this was probably not the best idea._

 __ _Constance and Aramis agreed that the place, where the exchange was supposed to take place, was probably not too far away from where d'Artagnan and Elodie were hold hostage. So they decided to surprise the kidnappers. Aramis took 12 musketeers with him, while he and Constance rode ahead. They first rode to the place where they should meet the captors tomorrow. It was an lost farmhouse and three hours ride away from Paris._

 _There, they split up. Aramis, Constance and four Musketeers rode into the south, while the remaining soldiers rode northwards. "What do we do when we find them?" Constance asked worried. "We can't walk into their not knowing how many men are waiting for us."_

 _"_ _They won't expect us today, so they probably won't be prepared. Furthermore not all of us will just run into the house. One or maybe two of us will be enough."_

 _Constance looked shocked. "They were four men as they kidnapped D'Artagnan and Elodie and there will be probably more in their hideout! How are two supposed to fight all of this?"_

 _Aramis smiled as he shook his head. "We won't fight them as long as they have d'Artagnan and Elodie. We will get in and out unnoticed."_

"And? Did it work out as you have planned? Did you even find them?" Porthos seemed nervous, even though he knew Elodie was save now.  
"We did find them," Aramis said tired. He didn't like to remember this part of the story.

 _It was in the late afternoon as they found an dilapidated house on the edge of a forest. "It has to be here," Constance whispered, fearing that anyone could hear them. Aramis nod, guiding his horse into the cover of the trees. "I don't see any guards. I will go alone." He dismounted and checked his weapons. "I will come with you." Constance grabbed of the knives of a musketeer, who was took by surprise. "If something happens to you, D'Artagnan will kill me."  
"And I will kill you if something happens to d'Artagnan when I'm not with you."  
Aramis sighed and gave in. He never had a chance to win a discussion with Constance. They walked in the cover of the wood as long as possible, then they crawled through the high grass. _

_They had reached the back of the house, from where they planned to get in. Aramis stood up slowly. After he had checked their surroundings and no one was to be seen, he walked over to the door. Constance followed him. The former musketeer pushed the door open slightly- it wasn't locked. He stepped into the house, so careful that you wouldn't have heard him if he were right beside him. As Aramis saw steps leading downstairs, he decided that this would probably the place where they hold d'Artagnan and Elodie hostage. He rushed through the hall. Just as he reached the stairs he heard a muffled scream. Aramis turned around searching for Constance. She was nowhere to be seen. Carefully he walked back into the hall, holding his gun up. As he walked around a corner he saw the woman struggle in the arms of a man. "Let her go." Aramis hissed as he aimed his gun at the head of the attacker. The man just smirked and looked past him. The first Minister reacted fast and turned around, just in time to parry a blow with a sword with his arm. It cut through his leather uniform but didn't harm him bad._

 _Aramis pulled out his sword to fight off his attacker. He was just about to kill the man as heard the familiar sound of a gun being loaded. "Kill him and I kill the woman." Aramis stopped in his movements. "Good. Now lay down your weapons." Constance tried to say something but the hand on her mouth suppresses every noise she makes. Aramis sighed and did as he was told. He was pushed against the wall and his hands were bound behind his back. Footsteps echoed through the hall, before another man reached the four people. "Look what we have here. Monsieur Aramis, the First Minister." Aramis was pushed down to his knees, while the man grabbed his hair to make him look up. "You really thought we would be so stupid, did you?" The man laughed slightly. "But don't worry. We will let you go soon. Then you can get your friend Porthos and come back. Then we will let these innocent women go… But first, you need to see what happens when you don't play along." Two men grabbed Aramis and dragged him down the stairs. Constance was right behind him. A heavy door was opened and darkness greeted them._

 _"_ _Aramis? Constance?!" D'Artagnan stood up fast and rushed over to wife, before he was hold back by a guard. "I'm sorry." Aramis mumbled as he was bound to a chair in the middle of the room. Constance was held by two men now, while two more went over to D'Artagnan. The captain was held tightly on his arms, so he wasn't able to get free, as the leader came nearer. "You know, Captain, your friend really thought he could betray us. I think we need to teach him a lesson, don't we?" D'Artagnan remained silent, looking over to Constance. She seemed unharmed, which reassured him a little bit._

 _Aramis already prepared for being beaten up, but was shocked as d'Artagnan was hit in the stomach. "NO! Not let him alone! He hasn't done anything. It was my fault!" Aramis teared at his bonds, helplessly. He screamed and begged while his friend was beaten up merciless. As d'Artagnans face was nothing more than a bloddy mess and he hung weak in the arms of his captors, Aramis turned his head away. He couldn't stand to see how his brother was hurt so much because of a mistake he had made. "Look or the woman is next." The leader commanded._

 _Aramis swallowed hard, before he dared to look up again. "I'm sorry, mon Ami." D'Artagnan looked up slightly, trying so smile at his brother soothing. It was nothing more than an ugly grimace._

 _The leader took a knife, holding it on the Captains throat. Constance, who was already crying and sobbing, screamed. "NO! NO!" She struggled against her captors, kicking them as hard as possible. She got one arm free, as she bit one in the hand. She punched him in the face, before the man got a grib on her again. "Please don't." She begged once again._

 _The leader laughed lowering the knife. "Don't worry he will live… for now." The ropes around Aramis were cut open. "Now go and get General du Vallon or this will happen to the woman, too." The first Minister and Constance were brought out of the house immediately._

 _Constance was still crying as they met with the Musketeers in the woods. Aramis was frustrated, as he didn't know how to get Elodie and d'Artagnan out of this hell, without risking their lifes._

"You foolish idiot!" Porthos grabbed Aramis at the collar, lifting him up from the chair. "They could have had killed Elodie!" "Porthos," Athos laid a hand on the General's shoulder, "it wasn't his fault. This could have happened to anyone of us. Besides this, nothing has happened to Elodie." Porthos frowned, letting the First Minister down.


	6. Captured (2)

**CAPTURED (2)**

 _D'Artagnan felt dizzy, as collapsed on the ground with no guards holding him upright. Elodie ran up to him and laid his head on her lap. "D'Artagnan? Do you hear me? Are you with me?" The Gascons eyes fluttered open just to see the worried face above him. He moaned slightly while he nod, not able to form his thoughts into words. Elodie sighed as she wasn't sure how to helpb the former Musketeer. She had nothing in this room except for herself and d'Artagnan. Elodie ripped apart her skirt and wetted it with her saliva before she cleaned d'Artagnans wound carefully. The First Minister felt way too weak to protest the treatment, so he tried to regain his senses while he laid in her lap._

 _"_ _We need to get out of this place," he muttered as Elodie seemed satisfied with her work. She agreed and helped him to sit up.  
"I may have a plan," Elodie smiled._

"Constance and I rode back to the garrison, where we thought about a plan. It was hours until Constance smiled at me brightly." Aramis told.

 _"_ _I don't think this men even know how Porthos looks. I mean he is at the Spanish border since years. Even if someone has seen him it has to be ages ago. They will take anyone as long as he's introduced as General du Vallon." Aramis laughed happily as he hugged the woman. He was so thankful to have her at his side at this moment. "Let's find a new Porthos," The first Minister grinned._

"Always thought I would be irreplaceable," Porthos laughed, shaking his head.

 _Aramis didn't like to wait, but they had to be patience. They waited two day until they rode back to the hideout. Two day in which no one knew what d'Artagnan and Elodie went through. He prayed to god that their captors wouldn't harm them, since they wanted to get Aramis and Porthos also. Still, they needed to wait these unbearable long two days. It would be unrealistic if Porthos would just be there after a few hours. It was at least a three days ride from the border back to Paris. Too be sure they would have had to wait a day more, but not Constance or Aramis were able to do it. Aramis laid on his belt and put his weapons in it. It felt good to have the familiar weight back on him, since he just carried a dagger with him as the first Minister.  
They made a stop just a few meters away from the house were Elodie and the captain were hold hostage. Between Aramis and Constance sat Marco. He became a musketeer short after Aramis. His age and physique fitted to Porthos', even though he was a bit smaller. Strangers wouldn't notice. _

_"_ _We have what you wanted! Now bring us the hostages!" Aramis commanded._

 _He saw how Elodie was brought outside. Two men hold onto her, as she screamed something at them. Constance thought she heard her husbands name but wasn't sure though. The leader of the captors came out, too. Constance got worried even more as there was no sign of d'Artagnan._

 _"_ _There you are, First Minister." The leader bowed sarcastically, as he still stood far away that he had to shout. "Come here and give us General du Vallon and you will get the woman."_

 _Aramis looked at Marco, who nod complying. Both of them dismounted and slowly walked up to the house. Elodie was pushed to the ground as the guards grabbed 'General du Vallon' instead. Aramis helped her up. "Go to Constance. Run!" Elodie looked back to the door where she came from, then turned around and ran over to Constance._

 _"_ _Where is d'Artagnan?" Aramis finally asked._

 _"_ _Somewhere inside," the leader answered calmly. "But you will him see him soon enough." Aramis hold on to the handle off his sword, as the man turned to the guards. "Kill the women."  
Aramis eyes widened in shock, before he draw his weapon. One of the guards was just about to run towards the woman, as Aramis threw his dagger at him. It him right through the hard. The marksman then turned to the leader, who had his gun already pointed at him. Aramis looked around, searching for a solution to this situation. Three more guards were coming out of the house. Two of them made their way to Constance and Elodie._

 _Aramis saw how Marco kicked back and freed himself out of the tight grip of his captor. He drew his dagger and stabbed him in the chest. The guard fell down immediately. Aramis used this moment of distraction to grab the pistol in the hands of the leader. Neither of them loosened their grip on the weapon, as they fell down. Each one of them tried to gain the upper hand and turn the barrel at the other one. From the corner of his eye, Aramis saw how Marco fell – eyes wide open. Constance and Elodie had shot the two guard who were coming up to them by now._

 _The last guard who lived kicked against Aramis' head, who loosened the grip on the weapon in this moment. The leader was now sitting on top of him, the gun pointed at the marksmans head. "Do it," Aramis hissed, as he watched the eyes behind the mask dance. He didn't jump as he heard the familiar sound of a gunshot. The lifeless body fell onto him. Groaning, Aramis pushed the dead man onto the ground, before he stood up. Constance was with him by now, the tip of her sword pointed at the throat of the last guard. Elodie smiled at Aramis, as she still was with the horses, a gun in her hand. "She's good." The former musketeers admits. Constance shots him a look. "You can admire women later. D'Artagnan is still in there."_

 _Aramis nod. He looked at the guard, thinking about what to do with him. He decided to knock him out with the back of his gun for a start. The first Minister and Constance ran into the houses and down the stairs. "D'Artagnan?!" Constance shouted, as she hammered against the closed door._

 _"_ _In here!"  
Aramis tried to open the door. As this didn't work he took a step back. "Go back from the door!" He informed his brother, before he ran against it. The wood gave in and the door opened. Aramis rubbed his shoulder and entered the dark cell. Constance screamed in shock as she saw her husband._

 _D'Artagnan sat against a wall, clearly too weak to hold his own weight. One of his eyes was swollen shut. Bruises and cuts were all over his face. Aramis sighed, knowing that there was more hidden under the clothes. He helped the Captain up and hold onto his waist. "Can you walk?" Aramis asked concerned. D'Artagnan mumbled a yes and tried to concentrate on not passing out. Every breath sent a sharp pain through his body. It took long until they were finally outside, but they made it._

 _The First Minister was relieved as he saw after his brothers wounds, finding only a bruised rip, not as he had feared, a broken one. Everything else seemed painful but not threatening._

"I'm glad I didn't let Aramis stitch the wound," d'Artagnan pointed at his temple smirking. "He got rusty and I would have gotten an ugly scar."

"You're looking horrible with and without a scar on your face." Porthos laughed.

 **Thank you again for your reviews! I love to put your ideas into words, even though it's not always simple. It's great to try something different! Keep going, I'M looking forward to your great ideas.**


	7. Savior

This one is for " Luthien17 " who wished about a story, where Aramis and Porthos meet for the first time. This got kinda short, but I hope you still like it! :)

 **Savior**

Aramis walked into the tavern exhausted. His legs felt heavy, as they carried him through the crowded room. It has been a long week, he thought as he sat down on a table alone. The king had decided to travel to one of his cousins, who lived in the north of Italia. The ride was harder than he was used too, since they had to ride through the Alps. Often the paths were so narrow they had to dismount and lead their horses through them. The king – of course – was annoyed by the exhausting travel. Not that this was enough, no, they were raid just before Paris. Aramis hand still hurt when he tried to grab something – one of the attackers had stepped onto his fingers, as he had tried to grab his dagger.

"This one's for you," Theresa smiled and placed a beer in front of the musketeer, who smirked at her thankfully. Theresa was young, but not too young for Aramis, who wasn't quite an adult by himself. And she was beautiful. She was thin and tall, stars sparkled in her blue eyes when she laughed. Aramis nipped at the liquid, satisfied as it relaxed him with every sip. He looked around curiously. It was Saturday, so a lot of people were here. A lot of beautiful women, too. Besides them, there were men who played cards, who talked way too loud or who drank alone. Farmers, traders and soldiers – they all drank together. Aramis spotted a small group of musketeers but didn't want to go over to them. He was glad to have a few minutes to his own.

While he drank and looked around he noticed something was wrong. In a corner of the tavern, four men were huddled up together. Aramis only could see their backs, but they seemed angry. They waved their arms around and screamed something, the musketeer couldn't understand. Then he saw a head pop out between them. He was taller than every single one of them, brought shoulders let him seem even more frightful. Still, his assaulters weren't scared of him. Aramis caught a glance at the hand of one of the men in which he held a knife. This explained why the big man wasn't fighting back. Aramis stood up slowly, holding onto the handle of his sword – ready to draw it any second. AS he came closer he heard the words, the assaulters literally spit out. "Go back where you came from, **pig**." "Shouldn't you be working, **slave**?"

Aramis had enough. He tipped at the shoulder of one of the four men, who turned around curiously. He was muscular and taller than the marksman, his nose seemed to be broken too many times. "What?" "I think it's enough now. You better go home, Sire." Aramis tried to stay calm, giving the men at least a chance to get out of this without a fight.

The man with the broken nose laughed. "Who do you think you are?" Aramis pointed at the musketeer pauldron at his shoulder. "You're alone," the shortest one of them noticed. The four of them now turned around, the man in the corner completely forgotten. They smirked at each other before one of them tried to hit Aramis. The Musketeer dodged away quickly, just to hit back in the moment he came back up. The medic noticed how the man in the corner now came up to help him. With just one blow to the head, the one with the crooked nose fell to the ground unconsciously. Aramis laughed, thrilled by the man's strength. After a few minutes only the man with the knife was left over. The marksman had enough. He was still tired from his long journey and didn't want to fight any longer. He draw his dagger and held it against the man's chin. "You have two options now. You can fight and end impaled like a voodoo doll or you run." The man took one last look to his friends on the ground, before he started to run out of the tavern.

"What a pity. Would have loved to kill him." Aramis muttered as he sat down. The big man looked at him unsure. "I guess I should thank you, Monsieur Musketeer." He sat down beside Aramis, smiling slightly. "Call me Aramis." "Porthos... Porthos du Vallon." The big man held out his hand, which Aramis shaked happily. "Nice to meet you Porthos du Vallon."

Porthos ordered wine for both of them. "Why did you help me?" He asked a few minutes into silence. Aramis looked at him confused. Wasn't it obvious? "You were assaulted and insulted. It was four against one. Of course I helped."

Porthos shook his head. "That's not so obvious for everyone. You shouldn't have done this and you shouldn't be sitting here with me." Aramis looked confused and put his hat onto the table. "The most people don't like … men like me. And they don't like the ones who sit and talk with people like me." Porthos explained. Aramis shook his head. Of course he knew about all these racist people, but he didn't understand why it should be such a big problem for him to be seen with Porthos. Even if someone would call him out for that, he wasn't ashamed of this so the insults wouldn't hit him. He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his wine. "These people are narrow-minded. I don't care about them."

Porthos smiled and took another sip. "You are a good man, Aramis." He inspected the marksman carefully.

"Tell me about the musketeers."


	8. A day with Sylvie

**A day with Sylvie**

 _So "Felicity531" Wished for a story in which Athos visits Sylvie. The story takes place between "Brothers in Arms" and "Queens Diamonds".  
I have to admit that this was a very hard chapter for me, since I just couldn't any clear storyline for myself. So I just started writing without any plan… I still hope that it didn't get too bad._

 _Moreover I apologize for mistakes in my stories… I often publish them without any second reading. Moreover my auto-correction often changes words without me noticing it. I will work through the stories someday, but at the moment I just want to write and not to correct. I hope you understand this!_

Athos noticed how Aramis walked over to him with a knowing smirk. He raised one eyebrow, asking his brother without words what he's thinking about – even though he thought he already knew the answer. "You like her," Aramis explained and nodded into the direction Sylvie went.  
Athos just shook his head while he walked over to the table, where Serge already placed food for the musketeers. Yes, Athos thought to himself. He didn't find Sylvie that bad. She was a very impulsive woman with a lot of temperament, he knew that. She was strong and confident and fought for what she thought was right. Athos always appreciated these character traits.

"Don't scare her off," Aramis joked as he sat down. He put a piece of meat into his mouth before he pointed the fork at Athos. "You often do that. Scare people off." The marksman added. Athos huffed. He knew he wasn't the most sociable man in the world and he knew that he maybe was sometimes to rough, but he didn't think that he 'scared people off'. And even if he did, what was the problem with it? He was how he was and he didn't want anyone around him who didn't like him the way he was. A smile, that went as fast as it came, hushed over his face as he thought about this. There were really people in this world he _didn't_ scare off. This surprised him indeed more than that there were ones who didn't like him. It wasn't many, but his three brothers and Treville were enough.

"You should go and visit her," Aramis suggested. "I would scare her off." Athos answered and was satisfied as he saw his brother laugh. "Maybe you would, maybe you won't. We'll never know if you don't try. C'mon, for me?" Athos shook his head slightly. "There is woman who can resist you once and you want me to seduce her." "Every woman should have had the luck to be with a musketeer once, don't you think so?" Aramis grinned as he saw the swordsman smile slightly. "It won't hurt you to visit her at least once. She saved us at the tavern, as she brought the refugees to fight with us. She came here to thank you. Go to her and thank her in return."

Athos sighed, not happy with how right Aramis' words felt. Of course Athos liked Sylvie and a part of him wanted to see her again, to kiss her again. But another part of him told him that it wouldn't end well for either of them. He thought about Mylady and himself. He thought about all the pain this love had brought. Then again, he thought about the happiness he had once felt. He longed to feel it again. But could Sylvie give him what Mylady once did? Could he give him even more? The swordsman stood up slowly. "Sometimes I really hate you, 'Mis." He muttered as he walked out of the court. He heard a distanced laughter from the marksman and then some words he didn't understand.

Every now and then Athos thought about turning around on his way to the camp of the refugees. But he walked straight forward into it, following the ways he had gone the day he had searched for the corn. Even though the streets in the camp were like a small labyrinth he finally found the house Sylvie lived in. Athos took a deep breath before he knocked at the door, which opened just short after. The curly haired woman looked surprised at first, but then a big smile started to form onto her red lips. "Athos, come in."

Athos nod thankfully before he entered. "I didn't think you would visit me," Sylvie admitted and brought him a glass of wine, which he took gratefully. "Didn't think this an hour ago by myself." Sylvie laughed and took the swordsman hand. "I came here to thank you for what you did earlier. For the help at the tavern. Without you and the other refugees we would have been lost." It wasn't easy for Athos to admit this, but it was the right thing to do. "You've saved us too, Captain." Sylvie looked down at the hands of them both before she stood up and sighed. "I still have some work to do though. Maybe you want to help?"

Athos was skeptical but agreed nevertheless. He had hoped for having some time alone with Sylvie, but what had he expected? This was her home, her family and somehow her work too. If she came to the garrison they wouldn't be alone either. So the musketeer followed Sylvie out of the house and through the camp. They stopped in front of the entrance – a big and heavy wooden door build into a wall just as high as the houses. The wall surrounded the whole camp. Athos wasn't sure if it was there to protect the refugees or to cage them in. Sylvie ordered Athos to wait as she walked over to a man. She talked to him for a few moments before he gave her a piece of paper. The woman showed Athos the list of supplies they needed the most. _Corn_ , _medicine_ , _milk_ and so on. It were simple things, still Athos didn't know how to get them without any money. As he asked Sylvie how they provided themselves without having anything. "Stealing, begging… Some woman sell themselves to get some food for their children." This was nothing new for Athos. France suffered from food shortages for a while now, especially Paris. Like it always did, it hit the ones the most who had nothing. But already knowing about this problems didn't make it easier to comprehend it now. Sylvie wasn't a stranger to him anymore, he liked her. And knowing that someone you like has to suffer like this was incomprehensible for the musketeer.

"I won't help you steal," he clarified first. Athos was already torn between his duty for the king and to help this refugees, who clearly opposed the king. "I would never expect this form you. We found a farmer who offered to give us what we need to survive in an exchange for workers. It's no solution for eternity, because he doesn't have enough to feed all of us through. Still it saves us for a week at least. But we need wagons to get the food into the camp – without a raid."

Athos nod. He could do that. Half an hour later he and Sylvie sat on a wagon, which he borrowed from the garrison. Two more followed them. Athos was thankful that Sylvie started to talk without the need of him to ask. He wasn't quite the talker and she may had already noticed.

"You know I've had a long journey as I arrived in Paris for the first time. I had always dreamed about this city. Everyone talked about it: The most beautiful place in the world. With humans from all around the world, women with jewelry that costs more than a house, men with noble suits. Oh and the palace! Out of pure gold, diamonds at the doorknobs." Sylvie shook her head and laughed. "And then I saw this pigsty. I'm still not used to the loud noises and the stink. My whole world shattered at this day, as we walked through the streets and searched for a place to stay. We were told that we would be greeted politely, that there are many rich people who want to help. Instead of this we were insulted and attacked." Her voice was full of bitterness by now. "I've travelled through three countries and learned just as many languages and for what? To live like a caged animal with the fear to be arrested every day." Sylvie didn't know why she told Athos all of this but it felt good, it felt right to let all these things out. Furthermore she was relieved as Athos stayed silent. Words just wouldn't be right now. She saw in his eyes how he thought about this, how it touched him deep down and how he fought with himself. This was more than words could ever tell.

At the farm they loaded up the milk and corn before they headed back to the camp. "The medicine is missing," Athos noticed as he looked at the freight. "I know where to get some," he added before Sylvie could say something else. He ordered the other two wagons to go back to the camp, while he turned to the left. At the garrison Athos talked to Constance. It needed a lot of persuasiveness until he got some bandages, alcohol and milk of the poppy. It wasn't much but the most he could organize for the refugees. Sylvie looked at him shocked as she noticed what he had done. "Don't you need this for yourselves?" The Captain shrugged his shoulders:" The king will replace it if we need it urgent."

Sylvie couldn't get rid off the smile on her face until they were back at the camp. "You've saved us again, Athos." She pressed her full lips onto his. "Now wait here and don't move!" She ordered, before she ran into an alley. Athos smiled.

As the musketeer already thought that Sylvie wouldn't come back, she walked around the corner. Athos raised his eyebrows as he was trying to see what she held in her hand. Sylvie grinned at him. "Thank you again, Captain of the musketeers." She placed a bag of money in his hand, which he eyed confused. "Is this-" "Yours." She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "You've stolen it?" Sylvie nod with a grin still on her lips. "Don't look so disturbed. You are not really careful. It was easy to take it from you as you walked through the camp and searched for the corn. It was an opportunity I couldn't let walk away."

Athos was surprised, confused and amused, as his eyes danced between the money and the beautiful woman, who have robbed him so shameless.

The musketeer finally laughed. "I'm not saying 'thank you'." "Haven't expected it though," Sylvie admitted and pulled him into a kiss once again.


	9. Too hard

**Too hard**

 _This one is for "sara" who wished for a story, where Athos hurts Aramis accidentally. Furthermore it's the last plot I've on my list, so give me more to write!_

Sweat already dripped down Aramis face and stained his white shirt. His breath went fast and his muscles ached with every movement. Still he didn't want to stop. He enjoyed it too much, furthermore he needed more practice. Though it felt like the four years in the monastery never happened on the one hand, he knew that he got rusty. His movements were still very gracile and it still looked as if he danced with his opponents but his strokes weren't as hard as they used to be and his concentration faded faster.

Aramis was just defending a stroke from Porthos as he saw Athos' sword approach. He ducked just in time to not be defeated by the swordsman. Unfortunately he lost his dagger, as Porthos hit it out of his hand. Just one sword and alone against two attackers. Somehow the marksman managed to sidestep so Porthos and Athos swords, which were meant to hit him in the same moment, collided. The medic used the moment of surprise to get Porthos dagger and a grin formed on his face as his brothers came up to him. "Don't think you're good, we just wanted to give you a chance." Porthos laughed before he reached back for another stroke.

Soon Aramis found himself panting and hitting a pillar with his back. He still managed to disarm Porthos completely, which left him and Athos. Aramis parried a few strokes and had the place at the pillar by now. Athos has always been a fighter who liked to stay at one place, he never moved more than a few meters in a duel. Aramis on the other hand was a dancer and he used every meter he had. Once he was at the left, near the barns, then he was at the other side, right beside the tables. Aramis jumped onto a bench, which forced an annoyed sigh from Athos. He wanted to fight, not to climb around the garrison. Nevertheless he found himself on the bench a second later, forcing Aramis to the end with every step. While the marksman tried to not lose his balance, Athos took the opportunity to push him down. Aramis let out a small groan as the table hit him in the back, before he stood up again and fight back but the fall has coursed the sword to fall out of his hands.

"Maybe you should fight more and dance less," Athos suggested with a smile on his lips as he laid down his weapons. Aramis laughed slightly but stopped as a sharp pain shot through his back. He held back a wince and collected his weapons instead. The swordsman didn't seem to notice the pain his brother was in, but you couldn't reproach him for that. Aramis has always been good in hiding his pain.

Two hours later the four musketeers arrived at the palace. Blue capes hang around their shoulders as they needed to look presentable to the royals. Many high-born would come to the feast the king had organized, at which the musketeers had to keep watch. They split up to get a better view over the whole throne hall. D'Artagnan and Porthos were in the front, right beside the king's and queen's thrones, while Athos and Aramis were each watching over one of the two doors, through which the guests entered.

Aramis had already looked over his back at the garrison and had noticed the dark blue bruises which formed on the middle of his back. He feared that one of his vertebras was sprained. This wouldn't be dangerous, but would hurt for a while. The pain had already overwhelmed him while they had rode to the palace, the many hours he had to stay straight now weren't improving the unease he was in.

It was late in the night as the musketeers were finally allowed to leave the palace. While Porthos and d'Artagnan were eager to get home fast to rest, Aramis went after them more slowly. Every step shot another wave of pain through his body and every movement with is arms coursed the same. As he tried to mount up a painful groan left his lips. Sitting in his saddle, Aramis tried to calm down his fastening breath. "You okay?" Athos asked concerned. "I'm fine." Aramis answered, gave his horse a slight kick and rode off. The Captain watched his musketeer careful on their way back to the garrison and didn't miss the times in which Aramis clenched his eyes shut. As the marksman dismounted he couldn't hold back another groan. "You're hurt. Where and why?" Athos dismounted and blocked Aramis' way to his room. "It's nothing."

"As your Captain I want to know where you're hurt and why. That's an order." Aramis sighed in defeat. "My back from my fall earlier. It's nothing big, just a small bruise." Athos shook his head in disbelief. Just a small bruise could be everything from a cut to a broken bone in Aramis' world. "Let me see it."

The medic knew that it would be useless to discuss with Athos, so he turned around and lifted his doublet. The swordsman hissed as he saw the dark bruise along his brother's back. "I'm sorry Aramis. I didn't mean to hurt you like that." His heart had sunk into his knees as he had understood what he had done to one of his own brothers. Of course they got smaller bruises in training, but Athos never wanted to hurt one of the other musketeers so much. He should have thought this through, before he pushed Aramis down. He should have known what could happen.

"Don't worry my friend, it will get better soon. Moreover it's a kind of revenge for the one time I accidently broke your wrist, isn't it."

Athos smiled slightly, even though he wasn't fully convinced he nod. He would definitely look after the marksman for the following days more than normal.


	10. From love and wonders

**From love and wonders**

 _This one is for "Tidia" who wanted a story over d'Artagnan, who wishes for a child. I decided to let the story take place in S03 E06 "Death of a hero", because it just kind of fitted!  
I apologize that it's kinda short, hope you like it though!_

D'Artagnan and Porthos sat at the ground and leaned against the wall of the house which seemed to become their grave. They were outnumbered and surrounded by enemies. Every attempt of escape would have been suicide. "After all these battles, all what we've been through, I wouldn't have thought to die like this." Porthos admitted, knowing that there would be no way out of this situation.

"You know," the Gascon said, "I don't want to die now. I don't want to die without seeing Constance one more time. Without seeing the children we will have growing up." Porthos looked at his brother curious. "Thought both of you decided to not have children, you know, because of the risks in your job?" D'Artagnan got confused, as he couldn't remember ever saying this or even thinking about NOT having children. "Who told you that?"

"Constance. She said that a while ago. Thought it would be a decision you both have made together?" D'Artagnan's feeling were a mix of confusion, fury and disappointment as Porthos told him that Constance was scared of being a widow and having to raise a child all by herself. Of course the Gascon understood her concerns, but he would have wished that she would have talked to him about this. For d'Artagnan it was always sure that they would have plenty of children someday, running around the garrison. He would teach them how to ride and shoot and how to love. "I never knew this," he mumbled more to himself than to his friend, who tried to cheer him up again. "I'm sure she will change her mind someday. But for that, she'll need you back alive."

Both of them shared a short glance and grabbed their weapons. As if they've had went through this a thousand times, the musketeers shouted in synch:" We refuse to die!"

They tried to run out of the house to fight, as the sound of an explosion was heard. In the same moment the building started to brake down. It was hopeless. Another explosion in front of the door stopped the soldiers to escape, to save themselves. They felt how the wood and the stones fell down onto them, burying the men under rubble and ash.

An unnatural silence hang over the place as Grimaud and his men rode away, leaving the musketeers to die – if they weren't dead already.

No one knew how much time had passed as Athos, Treville and the other musketeers finally arrived. They screamed their names again and again, hoping to get a response. But there was none.

The cadets searched in the ruins of the house, but there was just so much wood and stone.

Porthos woke up, feeling dizzy. His head arched as if a horse stood on it as he opened his eyes. He needed a few moments to understand what had happened, until worry took hold of him. "D'Artagnan?" It was not more than a whisper what escaped the musketeer, as he was still hold hostage by the ruins of the building. He saw the Gascons hand sticking out of the stones and grabbed it carefully. "C'mon, D'artagnan, c'mon." Porthos squeezed his hand a few times until D'Artagnan returned the squeeze. A sigh of relieved left Porthos as he knew his brother was alive. "We refuse again!" They shouted once again. New hope and strength filled them.

Athos had heard the shout and started to search for his friends immediately. Just a few minutes later Porthos and D'Artagnan were out of the ruins, trying to catch their breath. "It's not our day," D'Artagnan said and smiled at Porthos slightly.

While Athos, Treville and the cadets decided to go on and search for Aramis and the king, the other two were dismissed for the day. Even though they wanted to help to find Aramis, they knew that they weren't a great help in the moment. Every muscle arched and breathing was difficult for both of them. So Porthos and D'Artagnan rode back to the garrison.

"What happened?" Constance asked in shock, as she saw the dirty and ripped clothes of the two musketeers. "I'll tell you later," the Gascon answered as he closed his arms around his wife. He kissed her head and closed his eyes. Porthos went to his rooms to give them both a bit of privacy.

"Are you hurt?" The woman asked concerned. "Just a few bruises."

They stood there, holding each other, for a few moments until Constance loosened the hug. "You have something on your mind, what is it?"

D'Artagnan sighed and nod. "You know, Porthos and I thought we – we maybe would not make it. And so I thought about you, about not being able to hold you ever again, not seeing your smile and about… about the children we would never have." Constance stayed silent as she looked at the grown, fumbling with her dress. "And then Porthos told me about your concerns. That you don't want to have kids. Why… you never told me about it Constance."

Madame d'Artagnan looked up with guilt in her eyes. "I didn't want to hurt you and you know, time have passed and maybe… maybe I've changed my mind. Of course I'm still scared that I will be alone one day, I'm always scared because of this. But I'm still looking forward for our little girl to grow up here in the garrison."

"Little girl?"

Constance smiled at him, took a hand of his and placed it at her stomach. "I feel it." She said and looked at d'Artagnan, waiting until the recognition snapped in. "You're pregnant. I'm going to be a father," he mumbled in disbelief. A feeling of joy and happiness, which he never had experienced before, full filled him. "I'm going to be a father!" He said once again, now louder. D'Artagnan took the face of his wife into his hands and kissed her. Then he turned around, a big smile on his face as he looked the other musketeers. "I'm going to be a father!"


	11. Trapped

**Trapped**

 _"_ _Jamepa" wished for a story in which Aramis fall into a well and I can say that I really looked forward to write this! It was just a great idea! I mean who can say 'no' to Aramis whump?  
I thank all of you again for giving me new plots again and again!_

As often all began with a simple mission. Aramis delivered an letter to Auxerre. It was surely nothing of great importance, otherwise he wouldn't have been send alone. The street he took was save compared to others, because not many traitors took this way not many bandits were there either. Aramis was already on his way back as it started to rain. He cursed and closed his cape around him.

He would need at least six more hours back to Paris, even more considering the weather. With the rain came wind, which whipped into his face nearly painfully. The ground was soon nothing more than mud so the musketeer needed to slow down his horse. The road went through a small valley. It seemed deserted, because all the residents flew into their houses. Aramis thought about waiting in an Inn until the rain would stop, but assumed that the storm could go on for days. So he decided that the best would be to get home as fast as possible. He could make it before sunset if he was lucky. The loud sound of a thunder which was followed by a lightning scared the horse so much that it threw up the his rider and ran away. Aramis tried to hold onto the reigns but wasn't fast enough. He was unmounted from his horse in an very uncomfortable way.

He felt how his back collided with something hard before he fell down again. It felt like an eternity until he collided with the ground so hard that his body went limp and darkness surrounded him.  
The rain fell down into the well unremittingly, soaking the already wet musketeer more and more.

Half an hour went by without the marksman moving. The water covered the ground of the well by now and slowly covered Aramis as well. More and more water fell down from the sky as if wanted to drown the whole country. As the musketeer breathed in some water, he woke up immediately. He sat up and coughed hard until the water had left his trachea. His throat felt rough after it, but this feeling was soon overwhelmed by the pain that shot through his whole body. Even though his vision was blurry Aramis tried to focus on something to understand what had happened. He looked at the water, which went to his stomach while he sat. Then the marksman noticed the walls made of stone, he had to lay his head into his neck to see their end, through which even more water came. He was caught in a well.

Aramis stood up slowly. He had to hold on to the wall as another wave of pain took hold of him. He carefully touched his head, feeling the wound that had formed on it. By now he seemed to have his senses back again, as he didn't feel just one pain, but every limb and part of his body hurt on his own. His left hand was utterly deformed, two fingers stood into a completely wrong direction while his wrist was swollen. As much as the medic wanted to tend to his wounds, he hadn't the possibility to do it. He had nothing with him but water, so his only option was to get out of the well.

He tried to climb the stone walls up, one foot at either side and his hand searched for hold desperately. Aramis climbed not even a meter high as he lost hold. He didn't give up. Again and again he tried to climb the walls, failing every time. After nearly an hour he had lost too much strength to try again and lent again the wall panting. The water had risen to his hip by now, so he had no possibility to sit down. Not knowing how he was supposed to get out of the well by himself he started to scream for help, but his voice got lost in the sounds of thunders and wind.

Aramis closed his eyes frustrated. Why was always going something wrong? Why always him?  
 _I don't want to die a fucking well_ , he thought. He had lived through so much. Through endless battles and attacks, ambushes and conspiracies. He had survived Rochefort and Grimaud. He even survived commit treason on the king himself. And for what? To die in a well all by himself. At least he wouldn't die of thirst. A rough laugh left his lips at this thought. The musketeer felt exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep but he had to conscious or it would be his death. He felt how the comforting darkness surrounded him more and more, his eyes felt heavy and they closed again and again. His legs finally gave in and Aramis body lost the battle against unconsciousness. But just for a short moment. As the cold water surrounded him completely he shot awake. Aramis stood up again, panting.

Aramis stayed awake long enough to feel the water raising more and more until only his eyes were out of it's reach. He had to hold onto the slippery wall to not drown. He clenched to a stone that stood out wider than the others as if saved his life – it did though. But after a while his right hand became weak, cramps went through it until he finally let go. He kicked his legs to stay over the surface. He wouldn't hold on long, Aramis knew that. His body was already weakened by the fall. The cold had a tight grip on him and the lack of food and rest made it impossible to regain any strength. The marksman looked up noticing that it was already getting dark.

 _"_ _He should have been back hours ago," Porthos said nervously. "He probably stopped at an Inn because of the storm. Don't worry, Aramis will be fine." Athos gulped down his wine. "What if something had happened?" D'Artagnan asked concerned. "We wait until noon tomorrow, if he isn't back then we will search for him."_

Aramis once again tried to shout for help, but once again it was an hopeless effort. So there was nothing he could do than to swim and pray. "Is this the punishment for all the sins I've done?" He asked as he looked up to the black sky. "Please have mercy with me and my lost soul." It was nothing more than whisper that left the blue lips of the musketeer. He mumbled prayers until he felt too weak to speak. Aramis changed from swimming to clinging to the wall and back again to swimming. His body screamed for rest as the sun started to rise again. The storm had stopped by now and the little bit of sunshine that reached down to Aramis warmed his heart. He heard voices, horses and steps. The village came back to life.

The Musketeer collected all the strength he had left to shout once again, praying that finally someone would hear him. He waited long moments until a head popped up above him. A girl, she was not older than fourteen, looked down to him shocked. Before Aramis had the chance to say something she disappeared from the well to get help.

Aramis shivered as the bound the rope around his waist and hold onto it, while four men heaved him up. He felt their hands wrap around his arms to drag him out of the well completely and lay him down onto the ground. Aramis shivered hard as he looked at his saviors. "Thank you," the medic mumbled before he finally fell unconscious.

He was brought into the house where the girl, Emilia, lived with her father and brother. The musketeer was stripped from his clothes and wrapped into blankets, before they laid him down into a bed and made a fire.

"We're sorry to disturb you, but we're searching for our friend. He is a musketeer and probably rode through your village?" Porthos asked Emilia, who had opened them the door. She nod concerned and made space to let the Soldiers in. "He's sleeping right now. He was very weak as we found him. Fell into the well, the poor man." She led the men into the room in which Aramis rested. The three shared a shocked look as they heard what had happened to their brother. "Is he hurt?" Porthos asked before they entered. He wanted to be prepared.

The girl sighed as she fetched some broath. "We bandaged his head, but his hand – we didn't know what to do and we have no medic here. He has some more bruises and sprains but I think it's nothing threatening. With that, Emilia opened the door and placed the broath onto a table next to the bed. The musketeers sat down beneath their brother and checked over his injuries. D'Artagnan had to stop himself from vomiting as he saw the deformed hand. "Hey, 'Mis. We're here." Porthos said gently as he placed his hand on the thigh of his brother. "Want to wake up?"

Aramis groaned and opened his eyes slowly. His head throbbed as he turned it to face his friends. "How do you feel?" Athos asked concerned and hoped that Aramis wouldn't hide any serious injuries this time. "Like I fell into a well and nearly drowned," he mumbled with a small smile on his lips.  
"My hand!" he said shocked as he remembered his injurie. Aramis sat up with the help of Porthos and looked at his injured hand. "I need to splint it and put everything back in it's place." The medic frowned as he knew how much pain this process will curse him and that he will need to do it himself.

He listed what he would need and Emilia and d'Artagnan borught it to him immediately. "You sure you want to do this yourself?" Athos asked and offered to do it under his instructions instead. Aramis shook his head. "Don't take it personally, but I believe that it's saver if I do it." The marksman took a deep breath, before he took the two fingers and pulled on them. He couldn't hold back a pained scream as they popped into their place once again and his hand started to throb. Aramis splinted the hand before he leaned back and gulped down a glass of wine.

"Let's bring you home, hm?" Porthos suggested.


	12. The medic becomes the patient

**The medic becomes the patient**

 _This story was supposed to be for"AnnA2474", who wished for the musketeers being caught in a snowstorm, with Aramis I deviated a bit while I wrote this. So it got more a story of Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan having to save Aramis' life without really knowing what to do.  
AnnA2474 I will write your plot the next time, I promise. I just couldn't stop myself this time.  
Hope you like it nevertheless. _

Even if it was cold and windy, the four musketeers were sent on a mission two days ago. They were supposed to ride to Lyon to get Fournier, a prisoner there. The musketeers didn't know why he was so important that he was brought to Paris to meet the king, but that wasn't their business though. Important for them was just to get Fournier and get him to Paris alive. Nevertheless Treville had informed them to be careful, as Fournier was a very violent and ruthless man.

The musketeers were lucky to arrive in Lyon on the second day, the good weather the last days had helped them.  
Fournier already waited in front of the prison for them, hold by two guards and chains around his wrists and feet. He was a tall and muscular man, with blue eyes cold as eyes. If they would have had the choice they would have let him walk all the way to Paris, but the king wanted Fournier as soon as possible. Because of this they had a fifth horse. Fourniers chains around his ankles were opened so he could mount up. Aramis bound his wrists to the saddle and his ankles to the stirrups. The horse was bound in between Porthos and Athos, so the prisoner would have no chance to escape.

Aramis mounted up again before they headed back to Paris. It was already afternoon and the musketeers wanted to get as far as possible, before they would camp. As long as it didn't get much colder than now, they could stay outside and wouldn't need to sleep in an Inn. The journey went by without any incidents. As it began to get darker, Athos decided to make a camp. D'Artagnan began to search for wood, while Aramis opened the chains of Fournier once again to get him off his horse. Fournier had just dismounted, his ankles and wrists unchained for the moment, as he hit Aramis into the face. The marksman was caught in surprise as Fournier took the dagger from Aramis and hold it against his throat. Athos and Porthos had their guns aimed at the prisoner but didn't dare to shoot, as their friend was used as a shield. Aramis tried to struggle free but stopped as the blade cut into his sensitive skin, leaving a trail of blood.

"Let go, Fournier. Otherwise we will have to kill you," Athos warned and took a step forward. Porthos didn't seem as composed as their leader, fury sparkled in his eyes as he had to see how Fournier dared to threaten his friend. Fournier laughed. "You won't kill me, the king needs me alive." No one answered to this, as everyone knew that Fournier was right.

"Don't move or I will kill your handsome friend," the criminal said as he walked back slowly. Aramis tried to get a grip on his gun unnoticed. He slowly pulled it out his holster, but the movement must have betrayed him. Fournier looked down and saw the marksman's hand on his gun. The criminal didn't think twice as he slid across Aramis' throat and then stabbed him into his back, before he started to run. Aramis eyes widened as he felt the blood rushing out of his throat. He clenched a hand around the wound in disbelief. He felt into the arms of D'Artagnan who were just coming back again, confused and overwhelmed as he saw how his brother was hurt so badly and Porthos and Athos rode after Fournier.

Aramis gripped at the Gascons shoulder, his eyes full of panic. He tried to say something, but it was muffled by the blood that searched his ways through his throat and mouth. "Don't talk," the Gascon said scared as he didn't quite know what to do with the marksman. "I'm here, everything is fine." He didn't believe himself, but he needed to talk to Aramis, that much he knew. He wanted to lay the medic down but noticed the blade in his back. Aramis gasped for air, his grip around d'Artagnans shoulder tightened as blood instead of air filled his lungs. The gascon sat down and laid Aramis onto his side. He digged a small hollow so Aramis' head would lay lower than the rest of his body. He watched shocked how blood spilled out of the marksman mouth.

The Gascon shoved away his own fear and tried to stay calm for his brother. "Everything is going to be okay," d'Artagnan assured as he bandaged the marksman throat with his scarf. Aramis looked up to his brother and the look in his eyes nearly broke the gascons heart. He had never seen his brother with so much fear in his eyes as in this moment.

Porthos and Athos came back with Fournier a few minutes later. He was now chained again. While Athos bound him to the next tree, making sure their prisoner wasn't able to move, Porthos ran over to his hurt friend. "Aramis," he kneeled beside him, "Are you with us?"

The marksman wanted to answer but no words wanted to leave his blood filled mouth. "How bad?" Athos asked as he arrived. D'Artagnan just shook his head. He really didn't know. They couldn't see how deep the cut at Aramis' throat was. But that he was still conscious was probably a good sign. Aramis coughed out some of the blood, before he lifted his hand shaking. Porthos took it immediately but the marksman shook his head slightly.

"Bag." He brought out before he coughed out more blood. D'Artaganan understood and ran over to Aramis' horse to get his medical supplies out of his saddlebag. He opened it besides Aramis. "We have to stitch the wound," Athos announced and looked at Aramis if he was right. The medic wanted to nod, but pain rushed through his body making him clench his eyes shot. "Don't move, don't talk," Porthos said while he ran his hand through his brothers hair. "Blink once for yes, twice for no."

Aramis blinked once.

"I will do it," Athos kneeled beside him and took a needle out of the bag. He knew that his work wasn't the most beautiful ones, but as he saw how shocked Porthos and d'Artagnan were, he knew he was the only option left. It wasn't easy as Aramis needed to remain on his side and coughed every again. Moreover the skin at the throat is much more sensitive than on other parts and the marksman clenched under the pain. Athos sighed in relief as he made the last stitch. As he wanted to bandage the throat again, he felt the cold and weak hand of Aramis on his own. He blinked twice. "Why not?" Porthos asked confused.

Aramis tried to grab something from his bag, but he was too weak and his arm just fell down. He closed his eyes as frustration overwhelmed him. He needed to explain to them or otherwise the blood inside him will kill him slowly. But how? He himself had done this just two times, and one of them wasn't successful – still it was the only option. "Glass… tube," he finally whispered, which caused more blood fill his mouth. D'Artagnan searched for the glass tube and hold it into his hands, unsure what to do with it. "Scalpel." Aramis said in between coughs.

"What are we supposed to do?" Porthos looked at his brothers helpless. They shrugged. Aramis tried to get in some more air into his lungs, before he opened his mouth once again. "Cut… put it… in… blood comes… out… throat."

"We… We shall cut your throat open again?" Aramis blinked once and then closed his eyes completely. The talking had exhausted him. The three musketeers looked at each other, no one dared to do it.

"Okay… I do it." Porthos sighed and grabbed the scalpel. "Aramis, you need to help me… Blink when I'm at the right place." The medic opened his eyes again, his vision was blurry but he noticed how Porthos finger searched for the right place. Aramis blinked as he thought that it would be correct. HE wasn't sure either. "Okay, okay." Porthos breathed in hard, before he made a small cut, took the glass tube and put it in it.

Aramis eyes fluttered shut as the blood began to leave his trachea.

With their brother unconscious, the three remaining musketeers could tend to the stab in his back fast. They then wrapped him into blankets and laid him down next to the fire. Athos woke Aramis after an hour to be sure he was still alive and everything was as alright as it could have been.

Aramis didn't seem to really notice that Athos ways speaking to him, his eyes danced around unfocused. He lifted his hand and touched the tube carefully. "Out," he mumbled before his arm fell down again. Athos had noticed that no blood was leaving his brothers trachea anymore, so he followed Aramis' command and pulled the tube out, before he finally bandaged the throat.

Every hour someone woke Aramis to check on him until the sun started to rise again.  
"We need to get him back to the garrison," D'Artagnan said. The others agreed, even though they knew it wouldn't be a pleasant journey for their friend.

Porthos mounted up and sat Aramis in front of him. The marksman was still asleep, his head rested against Porthos shoulder. He was terribly cold so they wrapped another two blankets around him, before Athos mounted up too. They had laid Fournier over his horses' back this time, making sure he wouldn't be able to move and blindfolded him.

Aramis woke up hours later and let out a small groan, which cursed him to flinch at the pain. "Hey, you okay?" Porthos asked quietly. Aramis nod slightly, before he closed his eyes again. He felt so weak.

As long as Aramis was asleep or unconscious – no one knew – they rode as fast as possible. The musketeers decided to not sleep and ride through the night. They could be home and sunrise. They just fed their horses and ate a bit themselves before going on. Aramis woke up every then and now for just a few moments. It was as they entered the garrison, as he woke up again. The medic looked around confused, as strong arms got him from the horse he was apparently sitting on. He wanted to protest as Porthos carried him through the court. "I'm fine." He muttered before clenching his eyes shut in pain. "Sshh. You shouldn't talk." Porthos laid him in his bed carefully. Aramis needed a few more moments to remember what had happened. He felt thirsty but the thought of swallowing disturbed him too much.

Aramis woke up again in the evening. His brothers sat in his rooms and rose as soon as they saw his eyes open. "How do you feel?" D'Artagnan asked concerned. "Thirsty," Aramis said and regretting it immediately. Porthos helped him to sit up, while Athos held a waterskin on his lips. Aramis felt some water stream into his mouth and swallowed it. The pain was too much, so he lay down again.

It was hard work to get enough water into their friend, but somehow they managed to get Aramis to drink at least a little bit every then and now. It needed four days until he could speak a few more words at once. At the sixth day he finally tried to eat soup instead of broth. He got better. Slowly, but he got better.

At the tenth day Aramis walked down into the court where his brothers sat and talked. They silenced the moment he came up to them. "You should be resting." Athos said. Aramis shook his head. No, his throat was hurt not his legs –even though the wound on his back still burned every now and then.

"I want to thank you," he said, voice rough and quite. It took a lot effort for him to talk in whole sentences but he needed to say this finally. "That you have saved me. This operation was a very difficult one. I owe you my life."


	13. Frozen

**Frozen**

 _After a short break I'm back at it again! Enjoy reading the story I wrote for AnnA2474 . As so often a lot of Aramis whump and concerned brothers._

"We should stay the night at the next inn and wait until it stops snowing," d'Artagnan suggested as the wind whipped into his face. His hair was soaked by snow by now and the coat he had wrapped around his body wouldn't warm him enough for a night outside. Athos shook his head. "You never know when it stops to snow when it once started. I would suggest to ride as fast as possibly as long as we still can ride. I guess we will have to walk soon." The ground was a mix of mud and snow but the swordsman was sure that nothing than white will be seen soon.

"We will freeze to death!" The Gascon said angrily. He really didn't want to sleep outside when it was as cold as today. "Athos is right. We should use very moment we have to get further. Moreover I crave for my bed." "And you woman?" Porthos grinned at the marksman who just smiled cheekily.

D'Artagnan sighed in defense as he noticed that none of his brothers would be on his side. "If I die tonight I will be very angry at you." The Gascon owned small laughter from the other musketeers, before they concentrated on the road back again.

The sun had set about an hour ago as the musketeers decided to find a suitable place to camp. Only the torch in Porthos' hands brought them light. "We should've camped before it got dark," d'Artagnan groused. "We still have enough light to ride, it's not completely dark yet." The Gascon wanted to start to argue with his leader once again, as he stopped in his moves, lips slightly parted and listened to the strange silence that surrounded them. Aramis had stopped too, his shoulders tensed as he felt unease rise. The marksman tried to whisper as quiet as possible. "Athos, we're being watched." Now everyone had their grip on their swords and listened into the darkness.

A shot broke the silence. The musketeers dismounted as several men had reached them and a hard fight began. The soldiers were outnumbered but their opponents weren't as skilled as any one of them. Aramis guessed that the bandits wanted the letters, which they were supposed to deliver to the king. None of them what as written in them, but it had to be important. The way the criminals attacked them, let the marksman suppose that they didn't know who exactly had the letters though. Otherwise they would have killed the one first.

Aramis noticed how a bandit creeped up at Porthos unnoticed. He drew his musket fast, aimed and shot. The man fell to the ground in the same moment in which Aramis parried a nearly deathly stroke from his opponent. Just as he had killed the two bandits who had attacked him, Athos was kicked to the ground. Two man had held him down while another one searched in his doublet. "NO!" Aramis ran through the battlefield over to his brother. With one swift motion he had shot the man on top of the swordsman and stabbed another one into the chest with his dagger. As he started to fight with the third one the medic noticed the blood leaving Athos' thigh. The swordsman stood up nevertheless to help his brother. As Aramis looked out for his friends he saw how Porthos and D'Artagnan had fight with three men each. An idea shot through his head as he pushed his opponent back. Not knowing if it would work out, he grabbed into Athos' pocket and took the letter. Aramis ran before anyone had a chance to react. The marksman ran in zigzag as he noticed how the bandits took persecution. Bullets were shot and words screamed. Aramis ignored the shouts of his brothers as he ran faster. As he looked back he saw how already two of the seven remaining men could been killed by his brothers. Five more left. Aramis shot one more, before putting back his spent pistol.

Another pained scream assured him that Athos had taken down another one. Aramis felt his legs weaken. He took a sharp turn to avoid another rain of bullets, but had to stop suddenly as a torrential river opened up before him. He wanted to run into the other direction as a sharp pain spread through his side. The marksman put a hand on the wound and looked shocked at his hands which were drown in red. The remaining three bandits had nearly reached him as he regained his senses. But it was too late. Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan were still several meters away, as one criminal jumped at the injured Musketeer. Aramis was brought down to the ground soon. He felt hands tighten around his neck while he struggled to get free. Another pair of hands searched through his clothes for the letters but was stopped as Porthos' bullet hit the man in the head.

Soon Aramis felt the weight on him gone as he gasped for air. The world around the medic spun as pain took hold of him. He heard his brothers as if they talked through a closed door to him. He didn't understand their words.

"Aramis. Come on, don't sleep now." Porthos shook his friend slightly, afraid that he drifted into unconsciousness. Meanwhile Athos examined the marksman wound, announcing that it needs to be stitched as soon as possible. "I get his horse!" D'Artagnan said before he ran off to get Aramis' horse and the medical supplies which were in it's saddlebags. As the Gascon arrived at the palce wehre they had left their horses he found only his and Porthos' left. "No, no, no!" The former farmboy ran around searching for the other two horses, which probably got scared. They weren't to be found anywhere. So he mounted up on his own horse and took the reigns of Porthos'.

Athos looked at the Gascon confused as he dismounted. "Where are the horses?"

"They ran away. With the medical kit."

Porthos and the leader exchanged an concerned gaze, while the marksmans breath had slowed down dangerously. "He will bleed out." Porthos said scared and took the hand of his friend. "And freeze to death!" He added, as the colossus felt the icy skin of Aramis. Athos laid a hand on his brows and frowned at the cold he felt. "D'Artagan go and get sticks for a fire." He looked around and gazed a small cave in a mountainside. "We will camp over there." Athos and Porthos carried the injured Musketeer, careful not to hurt him anymore. There, they laid him onto Athos' coat. "We need to stop the bleeding," the dark skinned soldier said once again. Athos sighed and nodded. "When we have a fire lit, we will do it." Porthos nod, even though he didn't like the way his brother wanted to close the wound, he knew they hadn't another chance. D'artagnan came back with sticks soon. "They're all a bit wet. The snow, you know. But I think it will work nevertheless."

A few minutes later a fire warmed the cave. "Hold him down," Athos commanded, as he took a hot stick out of the fire, even though he didn't think that Aramis would move. His breath was slow, his eyes clenched shut in pain. He hadn't shown any sign of conscious in the last minutes and probably won't soon. The medic had already lost a lot of blood, the cold didn't help his body to compensate the loss of blood. Athos hissed as he brought the stick down onto the wound. Aramis body tensed, but he didn't move or cried in pain while his wound was closed. Porthos went over to the remaining horses and took the water skins out. He cleared the wound as good as possible, before he bandaged it with his scarf.

"He is still cold." The Gascon wrapped Aramis in his coat and a blanket.

Hours went by, without Aramis showing any sign of consciousness. They had put him down as close to the fire as possible an got as much sticks as possible. While Aramis was wrapped into two coats and three blankets by now, the remaining musketeers sat in the cave in just the uniforms. They were shivering but not as much as their injured brother. "Weren't you hurt too?" Porthos looked at Athos shocked. He had totally forgotten that Athos had limped after the fight. The Captain shook his head slighty, "It's nothing bad."

"Let me see." D'Artagnan kneeled beside Athos, who sighed annoyed. The Gascon examined the wound, pleased to find a cut that only needed to be cleaned and bandaged and not stitched. He did so as fast as possibly, hoping that no infection would set in.

"Athos hurt?" The three musketeers looked shocked at the injured man by the fire. Aramis had opened his eyes slightly, his vision was still blurry but he could see the silhouettes of his brothers.

"I'm fine." Athos kneeled down beside the marksman and touched his skin, concerned that he didn't seem to warm up. "How do you feel?" Aramis shut his eyes as he felt the pain overwhelm him again. "Fine."

Porthos shook his head in disbelief. "You nearly bleed out, but you're fine? C'mon don't lie to us."

Aramis sighed and let roll his head to the sight. "It may hurt a little bit. And I'm cold." He frowned as he felt his limbs shake. Knowing enough about field medic to do so, he diagnosed himself. "I must have lost a lot of blood." Athos nod. "Your horse ran off, we couldn't stitch the wound. We closed it with the fire." Aramis nod slightly. "You did good." The marksman muttered before he closed his eyes again.

D'Artagnan sighed. "He won't be able to ride tomorrow, will he?" Porthos shook his head, no. "But we need to get him home. It's freezing cold and we don't have enough food with us to stay any longer."

"And how are we supposed to get him back through all this snow?" Porthos massaged his temple as a headache started to form. The Gascon shrugged, he hadn't any idea either. Both of them looked at Athos hopeful, but even their leader didn't have a good answer to the question.

 _The next morning…_

The wind and the snow had increased dangerously. Even with the three musketeers sitting in the entrance to the cave, shielding the fire from the most of the wind, it threatened to go out any moment. Aramis was unconscious for most of the night, shivering and shaking. He woke up in the same moment as the last sparks of the fire die. The medic looked over to his friends. He was confused for a few moments and needed some time to order his thoughts and the memories floating through his mind. The letter, he was running, shot, he felt so unbearable cold. Athos held a bottle of water to the lips of the injured musketeers, who drank it nearly empty. Aramis watches his friends a few moments, still feeling dizzy, before he looked outside the cave. "It's still snowing," the marksman noticed and frowned. He had never liked the snow since Savoy, but feeling as weak as he did now, he couldn't handle it at all. As he tried to sit up, he groaned in pain and put his hand to his side. Porthos was there immediately, helping his friend to sit up and lean against the wall carefully. "We need to go home," Aramis added to his first statement. His brothers didn't reply.

Of course they knew they had go back to Paris as soon as possible, but they also knew that it would be impossible to ride with Aramis in the state he was in. No one dared to say this, as each one feared that the marksman would blame himself for the trouble again. "You don't think?" Aramis asked, as no one agreed. Running a hand across his face, Athos sighed. "First of all: It's snowing like hell, we would most likely have to lead the horses. Secondly: We only have to horses left. Thirdly:" He stopped himself, not sure if he really should say it. "Thirdly?" Aramis pushed. "Thirdly you are in no state to ride or walk. You can't even sit straight."

Aramis frowned and immediately sat up as straight as possible, ignoring the pain that the position increased. "We can't sit this out either. We need to move somehow!"

"I may have an idea. It would be slow, but better than staying here?" All heads turned to the colossus interested. Porthos had thought all night about an option to get Aramis home safely and was relieved as he finally found one. Still he was unsure what the others would think of it. Maybe he ahd missed an important point and it didn't work out.

"We could build a stretcher which we attack to one of the horses. Aramis could lie down on it, while we lead the horses through the snow." A smile spread across d'Artaganan's face as he finally saw a light at the end of the tunnel. "This is a great idea!" He admitted. "I will get Branches."

Aramis didn't like the idea of being carried like a dead at all. "I can walk." He said and tied to lift. However his knees buckled and he fall back to ground before he had even raised completely. Athos shook his head. "We will build a stretcher."

However loud and intensive Aramis argued, none of his brothers seemed to give any interest what the marksman had to stay. Ignored, he had to watch how the three man bound branches together and put a blanket between them. The stretcher was bound to Porthos horse, which was the fittest one. As Athos and d'Artagnan helped Aramis to stand up to get him to the stretcher, the medic refused once again. "Let me at least walk as long as I can."

Both men let go of their friend. Aramis smiled satisfied and took a step forward. He stumbled and nearly fell if it wasn't for Porthos to catch him. "You walked as long as you can, I guess." The Gascon laughed and put an arm around the medics waist. "Now get on the stretcher."

"What about riding?" Aramis really didn't want to be carried like this. Porthos shook his head. "I'm not risking that you fall off the horse. And if you don't lay down now, I will punch you unconscious."

Aramis mumbled about _stubborn_ and _unfairness_ before he finally laid down on the stretcher. It was a strange feeling, as he was half upright. His head was on the height of the horses knees, while his feet hand above the ground. He felt a tug and the horse began to move.

It was slow and tiring. One of the musketeers always walked in the front, making a small path so the horses could walk easier through the snow, which reached almost up to their thighs. They had to change often, as it was an exhausting work to do. Aramis felt bad and offered his help again and again but was ignored every time. He knew himself that he was in no state to help, but that didn't mean that he wanted to be carried and helpless like a child or dead man. The cold had him in a tight grip as there was no fire anymore which kept him warm and no cave which shielded him from the wind. He had insisted for his brothers to take back their coats, as they began to shiver also. They, of course, had argued, but in the end Aramis had won at least this discussion. Guilt overtook him as he was covered under three blankets and carried comfortably while his brothers had to walk and freeze.

"You shouldn't be suffering like this, just because I was so stupid and ran off all alone." The marksman finally spoke out his doubts through blue lips. Could it get any colder? "You did what you needed to do to save the letters from the bandits. You saved our mission…even if it was a dumb idea, it was the right one though." D'Artagnan smiled at his brother assuring. Aramis sighed as he shook his head. He wanted to argue further but suddenly felt weaker again. "Rest." Porthos demanded.

Aramis parted his lips to say that it probably was exactly the wrong thing to do. He feared to freeze to death. He may won't open his eyes again, if he closed them now. Instead he stayed silent, trying to stay awake by himself. He didn't want to worry his brothers even more.

Still he lost the fight some time.

"Hey, wake up Aramis. We're here." Porthos put a hand on his friends shoulder, trying to wake him up. But the cold body didn't move. The colossus stopped dead in his moves, eyes wide open. "No," he mumbled before he searched for a pulse hastily. He couldn't find one. Porthos looked over to their leader with fear in his eyes. Athos then laid his fingers onto the throat of his brother, nodding slightly. "It's weak, but he lives."

"We need to warm him up."

The injured musketeer was carried into his room as fast as possible. A fire was lit and he was stripped from his wet clothes and into warm ones. They warmed bricks in the fire and put them under the blanket too.

Every now and then the musketeers tried to wake Aramis up. After many hours the marksman finally opened his eyes, but closed them instantly as the light blended him. He dared to open them once again, focusing on his brothers. "Should've stayed awake," he mumbled as he still felt the cold inside him.

"We thought you were dead, never do this to us again!" Porthos said, before he wrapped his arms around his friend in relief. Aramis groaned as his wound was penetrated, but smiled slightly nevertheless.

 _But as all of us know, he will do this to them again. I mean: It's Aramis._


	14. The final battle

**The final battle**

 _First of all I want to announce that I decided to stop writing the plots in the same order I get them. I still will write every single one of your wishes and try to not make you wait too long, but I hope you understand that I sometimes don't feel to write something but want to write something different in the moment._

 _This one is a story, which prompt is from myself. The idea just popped up in my head while I showered and I had to make it alive immediately! It takes place a few years after the series final._

The inseparables may have separated by distance but not by hearts. Athos may lived outside of Paris in a small farmhouse and his family. Porthos may fought at the front for France. D'Artagnan may was the Captain of the musketeers and Aramis may was the First Minister, but deep inside they still were musketeers.

The war with Spain had lasted way to long for Aramis liking. It needed to be ended. Day and night he read through books, talked to Ministers, wrote letters to the Generals at the front and thought about a way to end this endless torture. The people in Paris had suffered from the famine way too long. Too many men had fallen, too many children were orphans.

 _Dear Aramis,_

 _Or do I have to write First Minister? I'm not sure about this though. It doesn't matter at all._

 _I'm writing you from Toulouse, but you probably know. The Spanish army broke through the barricades and is about to claim the city theirs, soon. I've lost three quarters of my men, good men. We're outnumbered at least one to ten, if not more. They have cannons, while our gunpowder is nearly empty. We need reinforcement, food and weapons soon or you will not only lose a part of the country to Spain, but hundreds of soldiers too._

 _Porthos._

Aramis sighed and tossed the letter to the side. They didn't have the resources to get to Toulouse what Porthos required. There was no soldier left who wasn't already fighting for his country, there was no food left he could bring out of Paris. There was no money to buy more weapons. He had to order the men back to Paris or else they would be slaughtered in Toulouse. But this would mean they would give the city to the Spanish freely. They came nearer to Paris with every day, invaded more and more of France.

The First Minister decided that he needed advise. Guards were sent to get d'Artagnan into the palace. He arrived short after that, sitting down across from Aramis. They didn't bother to greet as they met nearly daily in the last days. Exhaustion was written on the Captains face while he listened to Aramis conflict.

"It's hopeless. We're losing this war and there is nothing I can do!" Aramis massaged his temple, before he laid his head into his hands.

"The musketeer regiment is still here. What if we ride to Toulouse?" Aramis shook his head. "Paris would be completely unguarded. And if you lose…" The Gascon nod. "You want my advice?"

"Yes please," helpless eyes looked over to d'Artagnan. "If I were in your place… I would give up on Toulouse. It may be big but not too important. Evacuate the city, order the soldiers back."

Yes. This is what Aramis will do, even though he knows that none of the other Ministers will like his idea. The Queen regent will be on his side, as she always is. "Thank you my friend. I sometimes feel lost in this palace. Here are just a few people I can ask for advice, a few I can trust."

The letter was soon sent to Toulouse and was supposed to be delivered before the Spanish had a chance to attack.

 _There are things you can't control. You wish to be able to do it, but you just can't. Sometimes things don't work out as they're supposed to do. Sometimes everything goes out well, but most of the time bad luck follows you on every step. You fight and the most times you win. But there is always a day in a man's life on which he loses._

The letter was sent, but never delivered. The couriers were killed in an ambush, the letter burnt with their bodies.

Porthos never got an answer from the First Minister. He never got the message to evacuate the city before it's too late. He never got the chance to save the people, the soldiers or himself.

On a sunny and hot day the Spanish canons crashed the town walls. Men were slaughtered, women abused, children orphaned. Porthos felt the blood rush through his veins as he fought for his country. He didn't count how many soldiers he killed, he didn't know how long the fight lasted. He just knew that he had to fight until there was no one to fight anymore. He didn't feel the bruises and cuts on his body. He felt anger, as he saw his men die. He felt betrayed by Aramis, as he let them die so easily. Weren't they more than flesh? They were humans and souls. Porthos felt lost as he was cornered by a group of Spanish soldiers. He scanned the place, but couldn't find just one Frenchman alive. Porthos growled, which made the soldiers back up. But just for a short moment.

He turned around, twisted his knife, shot, stabbed, punched, kicked. He didn't think, didn't feel. He just noticed how strength left him more and more. Porthos saw a blade sink into his chest. He stared in shock as it twisted, causing his knees to buckle. Porthos fell to the ground, but not without killing his opponent with his dagger. General du Vallon looked up to the sky. It was blue, the sun shined as if it was the most beautiful day in the year. Birds flew peaceful above the roofs of the town.

"He left us die. Why?" Porthos mumbled before he caught out some blood. The remaining Spanish soldiers went, leaving him to die.

All for one and one for all. But where were the others, as Porthos fought for them? He was alone, lost, confused, hurt. Betrayed by his brothers.

Constance ran into the garrison, crying. "Where is the captain?" She screamed at the cadets.  
"I'm here." D'artagnan entered the court in confusion. "What happened?" He asked, his eyes full of fear as he noticed the tears on his wife's cheeks. She held out a letter with shaky hands.

 _The Musketeers are ordered to Toulouse to bring the fallen soldiers back to Paris. The Spanish had allowed them to get the dead ones._

\- _The royal council_

The Captain looked up in disbelief as he tried to understand what that meant. "They didn't rode back. Porthos was there." D'Artagnan sat down as he felt the world around him spin. "Porthos was in Toulouse," he repeated. He read over the letter again and again but the words didn't change. "Porthos…"

The cadets turned around, acting as if they would be working, as their Captain broke down in the arms of his wife.  
D'Artagnan had seen many men die, had killed a lot of them by himself. He was used to the death. He had buried his father, cadets, Musketeers and good friends he had made in the last years. He had always managed to overcome to pain and sadness that claimed him in these days. But this time he felt different. He felt lost and alone. He felt broken, as if some part of his soul had died with his brothers.

Aramis was informed of what had happened in Toulouse later the day. He wasn't at the meeting the royal council had, because he was in negotiations with a Spanish ambassador. If he had known about Toulouse, about Porthos, he wouldn't have accepted to the terms so easily. He would have decided to fight the Spanish. To kill every single one of them and even this wouldn't be enough to revenge the death of his friend, his brother. It wouldn't end the pain he was in, the guilt he felt. He had sent Porthos to Toulouse. He had ordered him to be there. He hadn't reacted fast enough. Every single death that happened in Toulouse was his fault. He was a murderer, a slaughterer.

Aramis didn't cry. He drank until his limbs felt numb. His vision was blurry as the door opened and Anne rushed in. "We are in big problems," she took his hands in her, tears streaming down her beautiful face. "The council… they are all against you. They want that I dismiss you or even better let you be executed. They say what happened in Toulouse was your fault, but it wasn't! Aramis!" She shook his shoulders, as the First Minister didn't seem to listen. "They're right. It was my fault, Anne. I killed these men."

The Queen shook her head, crying even more. "No! Don't do this Aramis. Don't blame yourself for something no one could have prevented."

Aramis stood up slowly, the chair scratched at the floor loudly. "It's late. You should rest for now," he opened the door. The queen looked at him in disbelief before walking out slowly. "We will talk tomorrow again, when you feel better."

More than a week had passed, as d'Artagnan ran into the rooms of Aramis, who just got out of bed. The Captain stopped shocked. "It's already noon." Aramis just shrugged, why did he even care? Everything they did was for nothing. They fought for lives but just got innocent people killed.

"The Spanish are coming to Paris. Only two hundreds of them by now, but if we need to be prepared." Aramis sighed. "Why the work? We will lose anyway."

D'Artagnan looked at his friend in disbelief, before he grabbed him at the collar. "I know you're hurt. We all are. But he wouldn't want us to give up. We need to fight! Protect the innocent people. The army of the Spanish isn't so big, we can win."

"I'm sure you are capable of leading your men by yourself." Aramis gestured at the door, his eyes empty. The Captain wanted to argue, but didn't know what to say anymore. Aramis seemed to have lost all his hope and strength with Porthos. He had lost hope.

Hope was the only thing that was left for d'Artagnan. Hope that they could save France, or at least Paris. Hope that no innocent people would be killed by the Spanish. So the Captain of the Musketeers rode back to the garrison. He planned where to place guards, organized every weapon he could get, and gave orders to the Musketeers. Soon the streets of Paris were filled with the kings guards.

D'Artagnan thought that the Spanish may would wait for further troops to arrive, but they seemed to think that two hundred men would be enough to claim Paris. If it weren't for the Musketeers Captain, they May would have succeeded. Still, the Gascon was surprised at the soon attack. Moreover he was surprised about the many canons, that weren't to be seen earlier. The first barricades were soon crashed and an endless seeming battle began. The night brought restless breaks of the battles, in which the injured were treated and the dead gathered.

The sun hadn't risen yet, as Aramis wandered through the palace. The halls were empty and silent. A sight which was rare and he enjoyed to the fullest. Soft voices broke through the silence, making Aramis stop at a door where the light of a candle shone through. It wasn't closed completely, so he risked a look inside. Two Ministers, Lefevre and Roux, stood together and talked quietly. Aramis had to hold his breath to understand them.

"We are lost. We should save ourselves and hide somewhere in the Gascony till it's over. It will end the same well it did in Toulouse."  
"But what happens if we win?"  
"I don't believe we would do. There is no one who supervises all of this. Captain D'Artagnan won't win this alone and with the First Minister nearly gone I don't see a chance. But I wouldn't with him either. We should have let him killed as we had the chance."  
"This is not the point we're discussing, Lefevre! But I think you may be right. We should go before it's too late. We still can come back when it's over and the streets are clean. Don't like walking over corpses."

Aramis hid behind a corner as Roux left the room. His thoughts were messy as the alcohol was still in his system, but he was clear enough to make a decision. He ran to his rooms and washed his face in cold water before dressing in fresh clothes.

The First Minister sat at the long table short after, the Queen ahead, the Captain of the Musketeers at his sides and more important soldiers and Generals. D'Artagnan was impressed how fast Aramis caught himself and relieved that he didn't need to carry that burden alone anymore.

They sat together until noon and until Aramis was satisfied with the plan. They would surely win this fight.

D'Artagnan rushed to his men and gave them the new orders. Soon the Spanish soldiers found themselves alone in the streets of Paris. The locals had hidden in cellars or churches, while the musketeer lay on top of the roofs. It was treacherous and maybe not the most honorable way to fight, but it was the best chance to win this fight with the less deaths. Soon the Spanish were shot down or thrown with stones. As there were only a few left the musketeers came down to the streets to fight man against man. D'Artagnan was, of course, with them. Aramis had thought about fighting with them, but knew he got rusty. He decided to stay at the palace with Anne and plan how they could go on after all of this. How they could end the war and make peace with Spain.

The Captain of the Musketeers smiled as he was finally sure that they would win. There weren't many Spanish soldiers left, the most were killed, a few deserted, some imprisoned. Through a window he thought a little boy watch the battle interested but scared. D'Artagnan smiled again. They saved them. They saved Paris, the people and also his musketeers. He had lost a few good men but not as much as he had feared before. It wasn't good, but it was okay and that was the best he could get.

"Captain!" D'Artagnan turned to one of his newest cadets, his smile faded as he saw the shocked looked in the boys face. "What-" He wasn't able to talk further as he felt his flesh being ripped apart, blood running out of body. D'Artagnan looked at the bullet wound in his stomach, then turned around to see who did it. The Spanish soldier was already dead – the last one. The musketeers rushed over to their Captain as he got paler with every second until he fell down. He gripped the nearest of the cadets he could get at the collar. "Constance… she has to… safe."

"She will be. She will be safe, I promise." The cadet whispered, before the grip loosened.

D'Artagnan wasn't alone as he died. He had his Musketeers beside him and his brothers in his heart. He had died while he fought for his country, as he always wanted.

Aramis sank down in his chair shaking. "We won. But I've lost again," he muttered, clenching to the Queens hand. He was glad they were alone now. "I'm so sorry," Anne stroke his cheek, not sure what to say to help him. There was nothing. She was scared he would fall into the same whole had before, but this time Aramis was stronger. He stood up and looked into the eyes for which he would die. "Roux and Lefevre… they ran away as they heard from the battle. They wanted to come back as soon as it's over and act as if nothing had ever happened. Anne, I know you always trusted these men but I fear we should… we should make sure they won't come back."

"Come in." The First Minister announced as it knocked at the door. He was surprised as it wasn't the Queen or a Minister that entered, but a guard. One of roux' guards. "What do you want?" Aramis stood up, after he hid the letter carefully in the drawer. The letter which sensed Roux and Lefevre to death. The guard closed the door behind him, coming closer to the First Minister. Aramis gripped his dagger. "What do you think you are doing?"

"You should know, you wasn't well liked, First Minister." The guard spat out, coming closer. "Only the Queen was always on your side, but everyone else in the court… oh if you knew how many people have already tried to bring you down." Aramis frowned in confusion, as he had never felt as he was in danger.

"The poison in the wine that you spilled before you drank it. The bullet that hit a deer while you were out hunting and not you. I could go on like this forever. But I fear your time is up, First Minister."

The guard was now near enough that Aramis could smell his rotten breath. He drew his dagger, ready to fight. Aramis avoided the first stab and hit the guard right in his arm. The man hissed, but reached out for the former musketeer once again. He stabbed him in the shoulder, twisting the blade before he pulled it out. The fight went on for several minutes, each one with bruises and cuts all over their body. Aramis finally managed to kick away the guards legs and sat onto his chest.

The blade sank into the guards chest. Aramis stood up satisfied with himself. He had turned his back to the dying man as he gathered his last strength. The First Minister didn't even have a chance to notice what has happened has he fell to the ground, lifeless. A blade stuck in his throat.

 _Dear Athos,_

 _Terrible things have happened, which I can't write down in a letter. I fear for the Queens and the Dauphins life. We left Paris yesterday. I hope we can find help in your home. We will be there tomorrow._

 _Constance d'Artagnan_

Athos read the letter again and again, thinking about what could have happened while he waited for their arrival. Sylvie had already cooked for the three and was just as nervous as her husband. Standing at the window, the former Musketeer noticed the two horses coming up to his house. He stepped out and recognized the familiar features of Constance, the Queen and her son.

"So what happened?" Athos asked, feared for the answer as he looked in the exhausted faces of the women. They sat at the table, each one staring in their glass of wine while Constance started.

"I wish I could say this on a more comforting way but I don't know one and I don't have the strength for it. I'm sorry. Porthos had fallen in Toulouse and Aramis was murdered in the palace." The Queen sobbed at the mention of her lover, but added, so Constance wouldn't need to say it, "D'Artagnan fell in Paris as the Spanish came."

Athos so often emotionless eyes felt with anger and sadness. He felt the world he built about break down around him. He felt as if he had lost everything, even though he knew he didn't. He still had Sylvie, but what was he without his brothers? Even though they were miles away, they always gave him strength and happiness. But now they were gone and he lived because he was a coward. Because he didn't want to fight any longer. Because he wanted to find his own peace he had given up onto his brothers.

 _All for one and one for all. But what happens if only one is left? He will live and he will fight, he will dedicate his life to his brothers and to seek revenge for their deaths. He won't rest before he haven't revenged every single one of them. One for all. But no one for him.  
Even the inseparables as separated by death. But the love they felt for each other and the memories they shared will always live on, as thousands of people will tell their stories. They will never be forgotten._

 _This story was something different than what I've done, I hope you still like it._


	15. Father

I'm a little bit busy, so I'm not updating as often as I did before. I hope you understand and continue to read this small collection of stories.

 **Father**

 _This one is for "Debbie", who wanted a story about a hurt and hallucinating d'Artagnan and caring Athos. Here you go!_

The sun burnt down ruthless, while their throats were dry. Drops of sweats streamed down the two musketeers faces as they fought against the farmers, who had attacked them. Neither Athos nor d'Artagnan wanted to harm these men, who weren't even able to hold a sword probably, but they hadn't another choice.

They were attacked on their way back to Paris after simple mission. Deliver a letter to the Comte, come back soon. Nothing more, nothing less. None of them had something of value with them, so this wasn't the motive for the ambush. The older musketeer suspected that the farmers had to feel a lot of hate towards the king and his personal guards.

Even though the soldiers were outnumbered, the fight was over in a few minutes. Some poor men had lost their lifes, others were clever enough to run while they still could. "There are more honorable fights then this one," d'Artagnan sighed as he sat down in the grass. Athos just shook his head in approval. It never really felt _good_ to take someone's life, but killing a man who has no chance from the beginning, and is probably just desperate, was something no musketeer longed for.

"Are you hurt?" The Captain asked as he mounted up again, not really thinking that something had happened to the young Gascon, but asking nevertheless. "Just a few smaller cuts, and you?" D'Artagnan clicked with his tongue to get his horse to a fast trot. He just wanted to get home finally. Constance and he haven't seen each other for a while, since his duties didn't allow any time at home for the last three weeks.

"I'm fine." Athos followed his friend, wanting to get back to Paris just as fast as d'Artagnan. They rode in silence most of the time since the former Comte has never been a talker and the young musketeer was too exhausted. He felt a burning pain spreading in his arm but shrugged it off as just a cut that could be tended to in a few hours. It didn't hurt that much, though. Just enough to annoy him within the three hours they rode until the sun set. "Let's make a break here. We will start riding in the morning again," Athos suggested in a tone that seemed more like a command. However d'Artagnan didn't feel like arguing anyway. He was exhausted and even though he longed for nothing more than home, he needed to rest and knew that it would be stupid to ride through the night.

The Gascon tended to the horses, while Athos made a fire. It was warm enough to sleep without a tent but they needed it to ward off animals, which lived in the woods nearby. "Drink, eat and sleep, how does that sound to you?" Athos got out some bread and dried meat, adding a bottle of wine to it. D'Artagnan smiled and sat down beside his friends, grabbing the bottle. "I knew I can count on you."

After filling their stomachs with as much food as possible the musketeers opened their doublets and lay down. D'Artagnan hissed in pain as he accidentally laid down on his injured shoulder and changed his position immediately. "You sure you okay?" Athos murmured, his eyes already closed.

"Just a cut, as I had already said." The Captain sighed and sat up, his gaze wandered of the Gascons body skeptically. "Let me see."

"It's really nothing to worry about."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem to look at it for a short moment." Athos look was stern as he waited for the young musketeer to open his linen shirt. D'artagnan gave up and unbuttoned his shirt enough to reveal his upper arm to the Captain, who looked at it carefully.

"It doesn't need to be stitched. But there's already dirt in it, let me clean it." Athos didn't voice his concern as he damped a tissue with wine and cleaned his brothers wound. The ambush is already over since a few hours, dirt – even in such a small wound – could curse an infection after all this time.  
After cleaning and bandaging the cut, Athos commanded the injured musketeer to rest. He laid down beside d'Artagnan and closed his eyes too, but couldn't fall into a peaceful sleep. The swordsman checked on d'Artagnan regularly to see if he developed any symptoms of an infection, furthermore he staid alarmed for another ambush.

Everything was fine, until the first rays of sunshine lightened the field they camped on. D'Artagnan's skin felt slightly hotter than normal which was enough to worry the Captain. Athos decided the best would be to wake his friend and get back to Paris as fast as possible. They could reach it by noon if they hurried. "You should drink more," Athos said and offered the Gascon his water skin. D'Artagnan looked confused, as he didn't feel weak or ill. Athos explained shortly what he had noticed earlier, before he mounted up with d'Artagnan in sync. "I don't feel sick." D'Artagnan took a few sips nevertheless.

There still wasn't much conversation between the two, besides Athos who questioned d'Artagnan's wellbeing every now and then. The Gascon felt the fever rise a few hours later. Shivers ran through his body while sweat dripped from his face. Since they were near Paris by now, Athos started to gallop – one eye always looking out for his brother. "You have to speak up when you need a rest. We can't afford letting you fall off your horse." "I'm fine."

It took them three more hours until they reached Paris. D'Artagnan felt weak and tired by now, every part of his body arched as his clothes were soaked in sweat. "Finally," he murmured more to himself than to anyone else. He dismounted and was relieved to feel his brothers presence right beside him. An arm was around his waist immediately, as the Gascon wavered a bit.

The garrison was nearly empty, just a few stable boys and Serge were left since a big feast took place at the palace. Athos brought his companion into his room and helped him to sit down on the bed. The Captain looked over the boy concerned as he was as pale as snow. "You don't look good, mon Ami." Athos helped d'Artagnan out of his clothes until he was only left in his breeches. "Thanks." A weak grin was placed on the Gascons lips. But as bad as he felt, he feared that Athos was probably right.

"Lay down, I just get some things. Don't run away." Athos hurried out of the room, getting a tub of water, towels and asked Serge to make some soup and broth.

"This will help." The Captain put wet towels on d'Artagnan brows as well as around his lower legs. "Can you eat something?" The Gascon nod, even though he wasn't sure how much his stomach would tolerate. He tried some soup but had to stop after three spoons. "It's fine. You can drink some broth later," Athos put the bowls on a table by the fireplace to keep them war, before he sat down on a chair. "One of the stable boys is fetching a physician. Just in case."

"I don't need one," D'Artagnan said weakly, as he lay down on the soft pillow. He felt his body relax immediately and closed his eyes. He let the soothing darkness overwhelm him. Athos was glad his brother could get some rest, it was the best way to get back to health.

Athos watched the physician as he looked over the sleeping body of d'Artagnan, touching his skin, feeling around the wound. "As you probably already assumed, it's an infection. I can't do much but give him something to sleep probably and a salve for the wound. I will also have to cut come of the skin around the wound." "Do what you need to do," Athos said exhausted and watched his brother concerned. He seemed to get paler and hotter with every hour that passed by. He damned himself for not looking after the young musketeer better and right after the ambush. He shouldn't have listened to the boy, risking that he downplayed or hid some injuries. He should've known. The boy had probably learned this from Aramis. Athos cursed him too, even though he knew he had no guilt.

"I need you to hold him down, this will hurt enough to wake him up." The physician had the knife already in his hand, waiting to start, as Athos approached. He grabbed the shoulders of his brother firmly, holding him down as the physician started his work. D'Artagnan woke with a scream and tried to struggle free. "Ssh, it's me, Athos. Calm down, you're safe." Athos didn't loosened his grip but his voice was calm and soothing enough that the Gascon stopped his struggle. "It hurts," he murmured instead, still confused and dizzy by the rough awaken. "It's over soon. Then you can sleep again."

D'Artagnan clenched his eyes shut and groaned as another wave of pain shot through his arm. "I'm done," the doctor wiped his hands on a towel before he bandaged the wound again. "And give this to him if he can't sleep. Just two drops in a glass of wine." The physician left after he gave Athos a small bottle with medicine.

"How do you feel?" The Captain asked and sat down beside the bed of the injured man, who just recovered from the pain. "Felt better." "I thought so. Do you need something?"

"Constance?" D'Artagnan's eyes were glassy but full of hope as he looked over to his friend.

"She will be back by night. Can you wait that long?" The Gascon nodded, even though he wanted to be with his wife _now_. He hadn't the time to grief long, since tiredness overwhelmed him once again.

The sun began to set, turning the sky into a slight orange, as d'Artagnan started to speak in his sleep. At first, Athos didn't understand what he said but as the Gascon got more desperate and scared, his voice grew louder. He started to twist and turn and slapped away Athos' hands as they reached for him. The Captain sighed as he sat onto the edge of the bed. "It's me, Athos. You need to calm down, mon Ami. You're safe. Whatever you see, whatever you feel – it's not real. You're safe." D'Artagnan didn't seem to react as he kicked against Athos' thigh.

"Let us alone." The brown hair hang into his face wildly, while drops of sweat searched their way down. "Here is no one who can do you any harm, d'Artagnan."

Athos laid his hand onto his brothers brow, frowning as he felt even hotter than before. "Let us alone!" He pushed Athos hand away, his eyes clenched shut in agony. The Captain sighed as he didn't knew how to help his friend.

"No father!" D'Artagnan sat up in shock, his eyes wide open as he stared at nothing. Athos heart twitched as he assumed what d'Artagnan was dreaming of. He shouldn't have to life through this again. Athos didn't like to lie to one of his brothers, but he thought it would be the best for the Gascon for now. "Your father is fine," he whispered and placed a hand on the Gascons shoulder carefully. He seemed to calm down at least a little bit and laid down again. "But he… shot?"

"You killed the ambushers. You saved your father." Athos felt his brothers fingers on the back of his hand. He seemed more relaxed by now, even though his chest still raised and sunk fast. "Father," he mumbled while he gripped Athos hand. "You're safe?"

Athos gulped, feeling even worse than before. He had no choice than to play along, since it calmed down the injured man – still it felt so wrong. "I'm safe and I'm here." Athos persuaded himself that he didn't lie actually – he himself was save and there, he never claimed to be d'Artagnans father. What the Gascons thought was a different thing. But Athos didn't quite believed himself.

"Would've been lost wi'out you." Athos stroked through the boys hair and washed away some of the sweat. "You would have made it. You're stronger than you think." D'Artagnan shook his hand, grabbing Athos hand again. "Need you. After mom…"

"Sssh.. I'm here, don't worry. We still have each other."

D'Artagnan nodded slightly before he fell silent again.

Constance didn't come back by night as Athos had assumed, the feast probably lasted longer since the garrison was still empty. He had watched the injured man for hours, who seemed just to get weaker with every hour passing by. Athos was ripped out of his thoughts, as d'Artagnan started to dream again.

"Father?" There was no panic in his voice, it was soft and longing. "Here." Athos took the Gascons hand in his own. "I miss her." Sadness overwhelmed not only d'Artagnan but Athos too. He knew about how much the boy had suffered from the death of his father, but neither he nor Aramis and Porthos had ever asked for his mother. They had assumed that he died but never thought that the boy was still suffering from it. Maybe he wasn't, but now in his weakened state his body longed for love and reassurance. "She misses you too, d'Artagnan. She is watching over us every second."

"Should've killed… men." Athos started to wonder if d'Artagnan was really speaking of his mother and if yes, what had happened to her. Maybe an ambush? "They have gotten a fair punishment and are suffering for their sins."

D'Artagnan shook his head, becoming more and more nervous. "They flew. Should've shot 'em"

"You did everything you could." Athos was unsure what to say, as he didn't have any details what had happened. He feared that saying the wrong thing would just confuse his brother even more.

"Not enough. Not enough." The Captain could have sworn that he saw tears escape the young man's eyes, but wasn't sure as they mixed with the drops of sweat. "Hey, listen boy. I'm here, okay? Everything will be just fine, you just need to calm down." Athos repeated this a few times until d'Artagnan finally fall silent again.

It got morning again and Athos slept in his chair by d'Artagnan's side as Porthos and Aramis came into the room. They had heard of what had happened and came as fast as possible. The Captain woke up immediately, eying his friends. "How is he?" Aramis put a hand onto d'Artagnan's brows and nod satisfied. "The worst is over, he will be back soon."


	16. First steps

**First steps**

 _Sorry for making you wait for your requests, but here is another idea of mine. I keep a list of your reviews, so don't fear I could forget anyone of you!_

 _This little story is about how Porthos, Athos and Aramis came to the musketeers._

 _I thank you all again for your lovely reviews and ongoing support. Keep going and I keep writing ;) !_

 **Aramis**

Treville walks around the court, looking at the building with curiosity. It was just build, especially for the use of the Musketeers. The musketeers are going to be the personal guards for the king, guarding the palace and the majesty on his haunts – they are supposed to be the best trained soldiers France has to offer. As so marvelous the description sounds as big is the building. The stables can host up to fourty horses, the rooms offer enough space for two hundred men – four hundred if they share rooms. The court is big enough for the sword training of at least thirty soldiers, additionally there is a shooting range to train on. Behind the building extends some unused grassland – Treville will see what to use it for.

The Captain and founder of the musketeers regiment stares at the gates waiting for some candidates. He had already visited the red guards and the army, watching out for some skilled men but was only able to find three of them. And even these three don't quite impress him. Treville still hopes for a wonder or otherwise he would need to take some average soldiers and make them to the men he wants, but this wouldn't be so easy.

A young man – more likely a boy, enters the courtyard, coursing the Captain to raise his brows. He grins widely as he walks towards the high ranked soldier. His brown hair hangs loose onto his shoulders, much wilder than his perfectly trimmed beard. He wears simple clothes, nothing ripped or dirty but he wasn't a nobleman either. "Are you Treville, the Captain of the Musketeers?" The boy asks, still a wide smile on his lips.

"Yes. That's me. And you are…?" "Aramis. I heard you're searching for soldiers" The boy explains holding out his hand.

"I'm searching for well trained and above-average soldiers indeed." Treville still eyes the boy skeptically, not sure what to think of him. He seems so self-confident but yet he can't be in his twenties by now. The Captain doubts that Aramis could have any experience in swordfight, battle strategies or guns. Still, he is curious – so he doesn't send the boy away immediately. There are no other candidates waiting anyways.

"I know, I read the flyers." At least he can read, Treville notices pleased. He takes two of the wooden training swords and hands one over to the boy. "How old are you?" "I got 19 two weeks ago," Aramis takes an amused look to the wooden sword before testing the balance and weight of it. "Who am I gonna fight?"

"Me." Treville notices a sparkle light in the eyes of the boy, who prepares himself for the fight. "Are you scared that I could hurt you?" He teases, while lifting the sword – the signal to start the fight.

Treville doesn't answer. He knows a lot of men who talk a lot – most of it is rubbish. Sometimes they try to distract you with it or intimidate you and Treville was still trying to figure out why Aramis talked as if he already was a war-hero.

A short look of surprise enlightens the face of the Captain as he really has to try hard to not lose. Aramis moves a quicker than the ones of the older soldier, smooth. Treville notices how the boy doesn't step but glides over the ground. His strokes are harder than they look and very precise. All in all it looks as if he dances a choreography he has learned for years. But as graceful, strong and fast Aramis is – he is not as experienced as the Captain. He loses his sword after a long and exhausting fight, but the smile on his lips hasn't left.

Treville makes a mental note that the boy isn't bad with a sword, he would probably win against most of the red guards. "Where have you learnt to fight?" The Captain asks curious as they walk over to the shooting range. "I'm in the army since last year. But my father has showed me some tricks before."

Treville starts to wonder how good Aramis could get if he got one more year of professional training. "When you're in the army, you probably know how to shoot?" Aramis takes the gun grinning, checking if it's loaded. Treville takes a few steps away from the boy, but his eyes never leave him. He watches every move of the young soldier, how he lifts his arm and shoots. _He doesn't even aim, has no one ever showed him how too shoot?!_ Treville is shocked as Aramis shoots without hesitation, without taking a look at the target. He is evenly surprised as he hears how the bullet actually hits the target. Treville turn s around seeing the hole right in the middle of the red circle.

"What a lucky shot," he speaks out, not believing that Aramis really was able to do this more than once. The boy laughs slightly. "Actually, Captain, it's not luck when it's skill." Now it's the older man who laughs, amused by the confidence of the boy. "If it's skill do it again. From there." He points to a line on the ground ten feet away. Aramis shrugs and wanders of to it, reloading the weapon in the meanwhile. And again he lifts his arm, looks at the target for just half of a second and shoots. And again he hits the middle.

Disbelief is written on Trevilles face as he order the boy to shoot again. And again. And again.

After ten shots from different angles, while walking, with his left hand – and ten shots right in the center of the target, the Captain finally believes his eyes. "I haven't seen such a good marksman in years. Decades maybe." Treville leads the satisfied Aramis over to a bench, where they sit down.

"You really surprised me, Aramis. You have probably learnt a lot from your father so that you could get in the army?"

"Actually, no. He showed me how to shoot as I was fourteen, but never more. He wanted that I can defend myself, but always intended that I would be a priest someday. Guess that didn't work out. I got bored in the priest school and left to join the army." Treville is getting more and more impressed by the man. He can handle a sword properly, is a man of god and can read and is an excellent marksman.

"Welcome to the Musketeers, Aramis."

 **Athos**

Treville watches the men with a mix of curiosity, surprise and sadness. He feels as if he betrays the fallen musketeers with replacing them so soon, but he has no chance. The king needs to be guarded and the loss of twenty-one of his best men must be compensated. The Captain notices Aramis hateful and hurt gaze on him, as if daggers would be thrown into his back. Treville understands the lone-survivor but unfortunately he can't considerate the feeling of betrayal the young musketeer has to feel. He needs more soldiers, new men who can fill the left places. Even though he fears the marksman would leave the musketeers when he hires new men, Treville has to do it. Even if it means to lose the best marksman in Paris. He tries to concentrate on the new candidates again, who are fighting each other with swords and dagger right now. But Aramis words still float through his mind, the image of the marksman's eyes – so lost and hurt – hunting him.

As he is still thinking about how he could sooth Aramis, one of the candidates gets his attention. His name is Athos, if he remembers correctly. Athos has already defeated one opponent and was right now in a battle against two in the same moment. Treville notices the calculating look in the man's eyes, the hard strokes, the fast movements. He seems to know what his opponent does, before he himself knows. After disarming one of his opponents, is an ease for Athos to overpower the second one. He looks around to make sure there are no others coming up to him, before he lowers his weapons. The Captain eyes the details on the hilt of the sword, fine engravings decorate the weapon, marking it as the one of a nobleman. Treville goes over to Athos, congratulating him on the wins.

"May I ask you where you are from and what you've done before you came to us?" Treville still eyes the noble sword, not sure if to think that it's stolen or that Athos is a highborn indeed. "Is it important?"

"I'm not hiring thieves." Treville points to the weapon, inspecting the darkening of Athos features. "I can assure you that this is my sword legally."

"So you must be out of a noble family, may I know it?" "I doubt it." Athos murmurs annoyed, as he doesn't want to talk about what he has been but what he may become. But the Captain doesn't seem to be pleased by the answer, as he wants to know who stands in front of him.

"Fine." If looks could kill, Treville would already lay in his grave. "I'm Athos, I was the Comte de la Fere." "Was?" The Captain ignores the annoyance and anger in the noblemans eyes, as curiosity takes a hold on him. "Was." Athos really doesn't have the patience to explain now and is relieved as the Captain finally gives in. "Okay, I know enough for the beginning. But we will talk later about this."

Treville leads Athos over to the shooting range. Aramis sits just a few feet away on a bench, his eyes have never left the Captain since the morning. He couldn't believe how Treville could betray him and his brothers like this. He planned to replace them like nothing has ever happened and what was worst – he apparently wants to replace them with some arrogant noblemen, who pass their time with too much alcohol.

Aramis snorts as he watches Athos lifting the weapon, earning a strict look from his captain. The marksman just shrugs it off, amused by the candidate who obviously loves the alcohol a little bit too much. How is someone like he supposed to even hit the target?

Athos ignores the snort, the amused curl on the lips of the marksman, and the men eyeing him skeptically. He takes his time aiming before he pulls the trigger and hits the circle around the one in the center. Athos notices how the smile on the face of the musketeer on the bench fades.

"Thank you, Athos." Treville holds out his hand, happy to have found another recruit. "I'm sure we will make a grate musketeer out of you."

The Captain ignores Aramis, who leaves the court as fast as possible heading to the back of the building. The unused grassland hasn't been unused for long, since the first men had died and Treville decided to bury them at the garrison. It felt fast, too fast for the Captains liking after the incident in Savoy. But as how hard it was to lose these musketeers, he was confident to fill their places with just as honorable man. Starting with Athos.

 **Porthos**

Treville doesn't believe his own eyes as the colossus of a man enters the fighting area. He doesn't believe his ears neither, as his name is called _. Porthos du Vallon_. Is it possible that this man, bigger than most soldiers, build like a bear, with dark skin is _the_ Porthos? There are some similarities, Treville can't ignore. He watches with enthusiasm how the colossus manhandles the soldier as if he was light as a child. Athos throws his opponent onto the ground with a strength Treville hasn't seen often. As the soldiers change to training-swords he gets even more impressed as Porthos can fight with it too. Even though he has to carry much more weight he is as fast as his opponents, each stroke is made with unbelievable strength.

"I think I saw a few good men within your lines," Treville says to the General, who smiles proudly. "Yeah, Some diamonds between the rocks, huh?" The Captain of the Musketeers nods in agreement. Most of the soldiers are average men who can hold a sword and can shoot presentably, but four men could fit into his own regiment. But even within this four very good fighters, Porthos stands out. It's not only his strength or his skill with a gun that impresses Treville, but it's the stories the General tells. Apparently Porthos has a very skilled strategic thinking, too. Something that just a few good soldiers are capable of. Everymen can learn how to fight or how to shoot but analyzing the opponent, making up plans and strategies – that was a talent you couldn't learn.

"Have you ever heard of the Musketeers?" Treville approaches Porthos, eyeing the colossus with interest. The soldier shakes his head excited. "Of course, Captain." A small smile spreads on Treville' lips as he notices the sparks in Porthos eyes. "I'm searching for new men. And I think you could be of good use." Porthos eyes dance from left to right and back to the left as he processes the information, until a big heartwarming smile forms on his lips. "It would be a honor for me!" He laughs, showing his white teeth. "Thank you, Captain. Never thought I could make it that far. From the Court of miracles to the musketeers… unbelievable!" Porthos exclaims it more to himself than to the Captain, completely overwhelmed by joy. And this is the moment Treville is completely sure that it's _the_ Porthos.


	17. Savoy

**Savoy**

 _Thank you again for all your lovely reviews, they really motivate me!  
Here's the story "Issai" has wished for… basically just some Aramis whump as he is sent to Savoy.._

 _Moreover I just started a new story, which is called "Men in war". It's about how the musketeers experience war (Aramis never went to the monastery). I would love your reviews there, too._

His vision is blurry, as trees fade into men and light to darkness. His eyes aren't even trying to focus on Marsac who is talking to him, but just stare to nothing concrete behind the Musketeer. Aramis tries to listen, to understand what the man says. He seems scared. But as much as he tries, he only hears the pounding in his head and faded screams. He feels the hand around his arm tighten, as Marsac drags him further away. "Keep going, 'Mis." He mutters, but the marksman can't understand.

He doesn't understand what is happening or why his friend is so desperate to move. He feels cold and tired, he just wants to rest. Aramis feels how his feet stumble, his knees give in. He feels the wetness of the snow soaking through his clothes immediately as he falls down. The musketeer closes his eyes, the headache just gets worse with every minute. As he opens them again, Marsac is fumbling on something that's wrapped around his head. "What ..you do'ng?" Aramis tries confused, as the blurry image of his friends moves away. He never gets an answer. Marsacs features fade into the ones of the trees, his uniform is left useless on the ground.

Aramis tries to understand, he tries to remember so desperately, which just increases the pain in his head. Had he been wounded? He touches lightly where it hurts the most, noticing something soft beneath his fingers. Marsac must have bandaged it. Marsac. Where did he go? When will he come back? Maybe he needs Aramis help.

The marksman tries to stand up, but he falls back down as soon as he is up. He sighs and leans onto a tree, deciding that it would be the best to just wait that Marsac would return from whatever he is doing. He will be back soon surely.

Aramis shivers, his clothes wet to his skin, as the sun starts to set. His vision has cleared by now so he can see the trees hovering above him like guards in a prison. It has to be hours since Marsac left. Something must have happened, maybe he was hurt. Aramis gathers his strength once again. With one hand against the tree he manages to stand up on shaking legs. He starts stumbling into the direction he thinks Marsac had went, but if he is honest he didn't know where his friend went. The world around him was still spinning, the dull pounding distract him from every other sound.

He holds onto every tree, more falls to next one than walk. Aramis stops in his moves sudden, his heart missing a few beats before it starts hammering in his chest. He feels as to pass out as he takes in the picture in front of him. Men spread across the snow, their blood coloring it red mostly. Not only men. He recognizes the uniforms, the weapons scattered between the trees useless. Some of the tents are ripped open, revealing more lifeless bodies. Aramis knees buckle once again, leaving him kneeling in the snow. He recognizes every face and with every face a piece of memories comes back.

It was after midnight as the peaceful camp was disturbed. Men were coming out of the trees and bushes, surrounding them. The musketeers were hopeless outnumbered as they tried to fight for their lifes. Some didn't even have the chance to wake up, as a blade was already dug in their heart. Aramis remembers getting hard blow to the head by the butt of a pistol. After that he remembers only Marsac, dragging him away from the camp.

"No," Aramis crawls over to the nearest body, not believing that this has truly happened. His shaking hand couldn't find any pulse. It is an hopeless effort anyway, as lifeless eyes stare up to him.

Aramis crumbles further, checking on every single one. He breaks down beneath the last one, crying horrible. "You can't be all dead. You can't have left me alone." He pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his head on them as sobs shake his body. "Why wasn't I there to help you?"

Aramis catches the empty gaze of one of the musketeers, who seems to look exactly at the marksman. Pleading to safe him, blaming him for letting them alone. "Don't look at me like that!" Aramis scream is nothing more than a pleading whisper as he hides his head between his arms. He can't bear the lost gazes of his brother, but he can't leave them either. Someone has to watch out for them. Nothing more has to happen to them, as they had suffered already too much. No human and no animal would get to them. Furthermore Aramis hadn't a choice, as his les wouldn't move as he tried to. He feels his vision get blurry again, the pounding increasing. He closes his eyes. Not sleeping or thinking, he just waits.

"Aramis." A soft whisper rips him from his own made darkness. Confused, Aramis looks around, finding no one who could have spoken to him. His gaze fell onto the corpse beside him and he could have sworn that the man has blinked. Aramis stares at the pale face shocked, as a ugly smile curl on the blue lips. "You will be one of us soon."

Aramis backs away until he hits a tree, his breath fast. "That's not possible, you're dead." He closes his eyes before daring to look at the corpse once again. It was lifeless once again. The medic takes a deep breaths, reassuring himself. "You have a concussion, your head is playing tricks on you. You're fine. You're fine." "I'm fine," he whispers once again, as if saying it could make it true.

Aramis drifts from consciousness to unconsciousness every now and then, he doesn't seem to even notice sometimes. As he wakes up one more time, the first thing he notices are screams. Not human screams, he thinks. He opens his eyes, just to see blurred images of black birds on the corpses. Ravens. As his eyes start to focus he sees how their claws dig into the white skins, how they tear the bodies apart with their beaks. "Let them alone!" Aramis tries to stand up, but his body won't cooperate. He searches for something to throw, but there is nothing but snow around him. His shouts are ignored, as the birds keep on eating up his friends, destroying what's left of them.

"Please not," tears start to form in his eyes, as he has to watch how the bodies are getting mutilated one more time. He couldn't save them from death and he can't save them from ravens. Aramis sobs, feeling weaker with every raven that lands on one of his brother. He doesn't even notice the bird on his leg for a few seconds, until it digs it's claws into his flesh. The marksman hits the raven, seeing it fly over to one of the corpses. "No," he mumbles once again, before falling into unconsciousness.

"Merde." Athos and Porthos stop as they see the soldiers laying spread in the snow. They knew that they would have to bring dead and hurt Musketeers home, but it seems as there is none survivor. They haven't thought that it would be so horrible, seeing all this mutilated bodies, slaughtered merciless. "Aramis!" Porthos starts to turn around, looking out for his brother in sudden fear. "ARAMIS!" Athos follows Porthos through the woods, careful that he doesn't step on one of the dead men.

"There!" Porthos points at a lifeless person, leaning heavy against a tree. Both of them start running towards Aramis, falling into the snow right in front of him.

Athos takes his head in his hands, noticing the bloody bandage that's wrapped around it. "Aramis, hey are you with us? Aramis, c'mon wake up." Deadly silent moments are going by, until a low moan slips from the marksmans lips. Athos hits him slightly. "Wake up, Aramis."

His eyelids flutter open, but he can't recognize more than two blurry figures in front of him. He feels warm hands touching his cheeks, slapping him. Aramis tries to get out of the grip and backs up further against the tree. Adrenaline starts to pump through his veins, as one more pair of hand grasps his arms.

"Aramis!" Aramis stops struggling as the voice seems somehow familiar. It kind of feels safe. "It's us. Porthos and Athos." Aramis now tries to focus his eyes on both men, recognizing their faces by now. His breath slows down as he lets himself fall into his brothers arms.

"He is as cold as ice," the dark skinned soldier notices and wraps his own cloak around the shivering body in his arms. "Let's get him home." Porthos stands up, Aramis still in his arms, while Athos walks beside him and shielding Aramis' view from the lifeless men. He had to watch them for far too long.

Aramis is unconsciousness again, as Porthos lays him down onto a wagon. They get as much blankets as possible to wrap him in, and put one under his head. After that, the two musketeers move away a few feet from the wagon, making sure the injured man won't hear them. They have already heard enough to know that twenty men were dead and Marsacs uniform was found in the forest – he had deserted. "He was out there for nearly two days," Athos speaks out concerned, looking over to the sleeping Aramis. "Alone with all these dead men… with his dead friends." Porthos ads and sighs with it. He doesn't want to think what this could do to a mans mind.

As they were about to ride back to Paris, Athos and Porthos hop onto the wagon with Aramis, making sure he won't be alone when he wakes up. They also made sure to be the last wagon, so Aramis can't see the corpses, as long as he doesn't turn around. It wasn't long until the wiggle of the wagon wakes the unconscious musketeer. He moans in pain, as his eyes flutter open. He seems to remember that he was saved soon, as he doesn't start to panic.

"Hey, how are you 'Mis?" Porthos leans over to him, to understand his whispered words. "Thirsty, headache." Athos is there immediately, holding a skin of water to his lips. Aramis takes a few sips, before looking up to the sky. Neither Athos nor Porthos knows what to say for a long time, so they just watch him staring into the empty.

"I'm cold," Aramis admits after some time. His shivering hasn't weaken, even though it has to be very warm under the blankets. As Porthos wraps him into another blanket, he doesn't know yet, that no fire or blanket could warm a lost soul. The cold would be part of their brother for a long time coming.


	18. Snow Again

_This one's for "jamepa". Again a lot of Aramis whump and Porthos as the big brother who saves them all._

 _I'm not quite satisfied with this story, as I had a really hard time writing it. It's kinda short too, my apologies._

"Look there's Mont Blanc!" D'Artagnan shouts out exited. The Musketeers come to a hold as they all watch the enormous mountain with awe. "That's very high," Aramis exclaims, fascinated by the beauty of this place. Snow covers the mountains around them, the Mount Blanc hovers over them all as if he were their in king.

"But we don't have to climb over him, do we?" Porthos asks as fear start to take a hold of his heart. He won't get up there, never. Athos smiles slightly at the concern in his brothers voice and shakes his head. "No, there are other paths we can take. But I fear we will have to walk and lead the horses as they paths will be very narrow."

Athos has been right. Not long after reaching the path that leads through the mountains and to the other side they all have to dismount. "And all of this for a single letter," Aramis sighs as he watches his steps carefully. He has one hand always lay on the stone wall on his right, while the other one holds onto the reigns. The marksman starts to fear for his horse, as there was not much space left on the path. And while on the one side a securing wall out of stone hovers on the other side is nothing but air. D'Artagnan risk a look down just to hold onto the wall again. He gulps at the image of the sharp rocks, which just wait to spike everything or everyone who falls down.

Everyone sighs in relief as they finally reach a more even passage, where at least four horses could fit beside each other. The musketeers decide to mount up again to get on as fast as possible, since they need to get out of the mountains before dawn. One loud roar lets them freeze in motion, as everyone searches for the source of the sound. Another roar echoes through the mountains. Athos is the first one who sees it, still it's too late as he shouts out his warning. "Avalanche! Seek shelter!" He shouts, but there is no time for them to dismount or lead their horses out of the dangerous zone, as snow begins to roll up to them. Nevertheless they get the animals into a gallop, trying to flee away as far as possible. Porthos, who rode ahead, makes it to a indentation in the rock just in time, as he already hears the screams of his brothers. He wants to run to their aid, but just in the same moment a flood of snow passes his hideout.

Aramis heart stops, as he feels how his horse buckles. _They were too slow_. The avalanche reaches them and takes Aramis with it. He feels how he overturns a few times, as his horse is ripped from beneath him. His head hits a rock, making him feel dizzy, before he is buried beneath snow.

Porthos wait impatient in his hideout until there is no more sound to hear. The avalanche has stopped. The colossus starts to dig his way out of the indentation, snow falls into his face every now and then. He is breathing hard as he finally lays on the top of the enormous snow mass. But there is no time to rest, he needs to find his brothers. Porthos crumbles to his feet, looking over the path they just walked over a few minutes ago. "ATHOS! D'ARTAGAN! ARAMIS?!" He shouts as he stumbles through the snow, his boots sinking into the soft material with every step. Porthos listens for an answer or any sign of life, but there is nothing but silence. But then, he finds something that disturbs the white layer. Is that a hand?

Porthos starts to run and as he comes nearer he recognizes that it's a hand indeed, reaching out of the snow. Porthos kneels down and starts to dig for whoever is buried there. Soon he finds d'Artagnan gasping for air. "It's okay, I'm here." Porthos helps the boy out of the snow and lays him down carefully. D'Artagnan still tries to catch his breath, as his eyes stare at Porthos in shock. "Athos? Aramis?" "Don't know." Porthos searches the area with his eyes once again, but this time there is no further hand sticking out of the snow. He helps d'Artagnan to stand, as he asks if he is hurt somehow, the boy just shakes his head. "I'm fine. We need to find the others."

So they stumble through the snow, shouting for their friends. D'Artagnan is the one who sees something moving beneath a layer of snow. And then, Athos sits up gasping for air just how the Gascon has done it before. He and Porthos hurry over to their Captain. "You okay?" Athos seems a bit disoriented for a few seconds, until he nods slightly. As he stands up, Porthos notices how he holds his arm to his chest protectively. "Broken?" Athos shrugs, already searching for Aramis. "I will live."

And as much d'Artagnan and Porthos are concerned for Athos, they know he's right. It's much more important to find the lost marksman now. "His hat!" Porthos picks up the accessory, fear and hope mixing in his chest. He has to be somewhere near. "His horse is here," Athos exclaims, as he finds the dead animal. D'Artagnan looks from Porthos to Athos, then goes into the middle of both of them and starts to dig. After a few moments the older soldiers start to understand what d'Artagnan must have thought, so they start to dig beside him. Each one just a few meters apart, hoping that their beloved friend is somewhere between his horse and hat.

After endless minutes Athos shouts out for his friends, digging even faster than before. "I have him!" Soon three musketeers grab the arms of one and lift him out of the snow. Unlike the others, Aramis isn't conscious as they find him. No wonder, as he was buried much longer beneath the snow. Athos puts his finger on his neck, sighing in relief as he feels a slow but steady pulse. With a wince, d'Artagnan finds an ugly looking wound on the head of his friend.

"Don't think it needs to be stitched," Porthos says calmly as he examines the wound. "But we need to get him warm."

Porthos and d'Artagnan carry their precious freight to a cave, Athos has found. It's not really warm in there, but they're sheltered from the wind at least. Porthos lays his cloak around the still unconscious marksman, hoping that it would be enough. There is nothing they could make a fire with here. And since they have lost all their horses and the saddlebacks on them, they don't even have blankets.

In the morning, Aramis finally awakes shivering. He looks around confused, his vision still a bit blurry. "Good morning, sunshine." Porthos grins and helps the marksman sit up, as he tried to do it alone. "How are you feeling?" Aramis rubs his head, squinting his eyes at the pain. "As if I tried keep up with Athos while drinking." Porthos and D'Artagnan laugh and even Athos smiles slightly.

"As you're feeling no too bad, I suggest we should start going." The musketeers raise at the suggestion of their Captain. With Porthos by his side and two cloaks wrapped around him, even Aramis makes his way out of the cave and out in the cold.

Athos still clutches his arm to his chest, as they walk through the snow to get out of this horrible place. It's just after a walk of an hour, as they finally leave the narrowness of the mountains surrounding them, and the first village comes in view.

They would be fine. They always are.


	19. Purgatory

**Purgatory**

 _I wondered what would have happened if Luc hadn't met the Musketeers so early, after escaping from the monastery. What would have happened when Aramis would've been alone with the monks, children and Lucien Grimaud and his soldiers? I may be changing some more things from the series to fit to my story. I also didn't remember all the childrens names, so I gave them names by myself – apologies !_

Aramis holds his breath as the door to the cellar opens with a squeak. He puts his finger in front of his mouth to show Marie to stay silent, while watches the men search in the dark room for more monks. Aramis is glad that these invaders doesn't know how many people exactly are living at the monastery. Still, they will wonder sooner or later where the children have gone, that they had seen on the road earlier. Furthermore they might remember his face and will search for this one specific monk, as they know he has to be somewhere in the building.

Aramis heart misses a beat as one of the men comes closer to barrels, behind which some of the children are hiding. He instinctively reaches to his sword, which is – of course – not there. It lays useless in one of the storage chambers, since he had first entered the monastery. The former musketeer has to hold back a sigh of relief, as the men get distracted at turn away from the barrels. The children will be save, for now. The invaders leave the cellar a few minutes later, giving Aramis finally the chance to breath freely.

"Come here kids, stay silent," he whispers into the dark room. As the girls and boys gather around him he wonders once again where Luc could be and if he was fine. He looks at every single one of them for a few seconds, so glad nothing had happened to them. He has to get them out of here, but how? Aramis frowns, as he notices that he has no idea what to do now. He has to get the children out of the monastery, without anyone noticing, but he also has to protect his brothers. These men already killed the abbot, who knows what else they're capable of.

"We will now go to the cells and hide there, okay?" The cells are only approachable through tunnels, that start down at the cellars. They were build many years ago, as exorcisms were performed down there. He hates the thought of bringing the children to such a cruel and dark place, but he fears that it will be the safest place for now. Not many men even know that monasteries have such cells, so he hopes they will stay undetected there. He's sure the invaders will come back to the cellar soon, as they had been very glad to find wine down here. "Come, come" he says as he walks towards the heavy door. He makes sure that every one gets in before closing the door behind him. Aramis lits a forge and walks in first row to lead the way. He notices how the children cling to Adele as they get more and more scared. Reaching the cells, Aramis opens of the doors with a grunt, as the heavy metal doesn't want to move at first. "Get in there," he holds the door open and then slips in too. The monk puts the forge into a holder on the wall, before eyeing the children. Adele does her best to hide her fear and speaks soothingly to Marie. Aramis is glad that the girl is already very mature for her age, even though he wished for her to have had more years of childhood. But the war had robbed them from Adele two years ago.

"I'm cold," the small Pierre says shivering, crossing his arms in front of his chest to get some kind of warmth. Aramis opens his cloak and wraps it around the young boy, taking Marie by the hand and sitting her beside Pierre so she could get under the cloak as well.

"Aramis?" The monk doesn't know how long they've been down here by now, but it has to be hours since he gave his cloak to the shivering children. He looks up to Adele, as her soft voice rips him out of his thoughts. He notices that the forge is nearly out, soon they would be wrapped in darkness. "The children are need something to eat and drink." Aramis could slap himself for not thinking about this. In all the agitation he hasn't felt thirsty or hungry himself and so has totally forgotten that the children would need something soon. He sighs, eyes flickering to the forge once again.

"I will get something to eat, blankets and forges. Don't worry, I'll be right back." Adele nods bravely, but Aramis can see the fear sparkling in her eyes. "Nothing bad will happen to you, I promise." Aramis hugs her tightly before opening the door. Holding it still open, he searches for something to barricade it. Soon he finds a broom, which he hands over to Adele. "Lock the door with this. Only open when you're sure it's me." The girl nods, before closing the door between them. Aramis waits until he hears how the broom is put against the metal, before he walks away.

It's easy to get to the kitchen, as the invaders are spread in the courtyard and dormitories. The monk puts as much food and water in a bag as possible, before he makes his way to the storage rooms to gather some forges and his weapons as well. This turns out to be a lot harder, since the storage rooms are right beside the dormitories. Aramis sneaks through the darkest corridors, hiding behind corners and in rooms, to stay undetected. He's lucky that there aren't many men walking around.

He presses himself against a wall and peaks around the last corner just to see two men coming out of a dormitory. Aramis hisses, as they don't show any sign of moving, but lean against the wall and start talking instead. As he doesn't know how long they may be there, he decides to bring the food back first. His way back to the cells is unproblematic.

He hands out the bag of food and water to Adele, explaining that he needs to go one more time to get all things needed. Once again, Aramis leaves the children behind. He walks the same ways as before and comes as far as before. The two men are still there, talking and laughing. The monk grits his teeth, they need these forges and blankets. As he just starts to think about the options he has left, a rough shout interrupts the talking men. "THERE! A MONK!" Suddenly, the chattering men turn to him. Aramis curses – and apologieses to god in the same moment – as he starts to run. He makes sure to no run in the direction of the cells, as he hears the invaders following him through the corridors. Rounding a corner, he has to stop as a men stands right in his way. Grinning, a sword drawn, he looks at the monk. Aramis turns around, just to face his persecutors who have caught up with him by now. "Come." The man with the sword takes a step towards him and reaching for his arm. Aramis takes this opportunity to get caught of the man's wrist and flick it around. As his opponent is still confused by the sudden action, he kicks the swords out of the other hand, catching it before it hits the ground. Aramis now turns his back to the wall, so he can face the three men on his left and right side.

One laughs, shaking his head at seeing a monk with a sword. "Put it down before you hurt yourself." Aramis smiles slightly as he steps forward, striking the man at the arm. The man with the broken wrist is still cursing, holding his hurt hand – he is no danger for Aramis. But the man with the wounded shoulder and his companion are now drawing their own swords. Aramis doubts that they will be as trained as he is, but he hadn't held a sword in four years. The monk parries the first w blow, ducking before one hits his head and disarms the injured man. "Enough." The still unharmed opponent now draws his gun, obviously annoyed by the fight. "Drop it." Aramis sighs in defeat, dropping the sword as he is still too far away from the man to disarm him before he could shoot.

He feels his arms being dragged behind his back and bound together as soon as the sword hits the ground. As he is dragged away, towards the chapel he guesses, he hears the unharmed man talk to one of his companions. "You really got your wrist broken by monk? Bloody idiot."

Surprisingly, Aramis isn't brought into the chapel as the other monks but into the courtyard. He recognizes the leader talking with a few of his men, this time the hood doesn't hide his face. A scar right under his eye makes him look even more cold hearted, than he had already shown he is. The former musketeer is pushed to his knees, hand on his shoulders holding him steady.

The leader turns to him, eyeing him suspicious. "You hurt two of my men. How?" Aramis grins, as the leader comes closer to him. "I'm a natural, I guess." As he earns a punch into the face for it, Aramis frowns slightly. "Hitting a man of god is not quite honorable, you think?"

"Shut up." The leader turns his back to Aramis, giving commands to a few of his men, the monk can't understand. Soon he is pulled up and brought to the wagon, that stands in the middle of the courtyard. There, his hands and feet are bound to it, making it impossible to move away. Aramis sighs, leaning against the wood. This would be a long night.

With time passing, he starts worry more and more for the children. They may have enough food and water, but they probably get scared when he doesn't return. Moreover the forge has to be out by now, wrapping them in complete darkness. Aramis prays to god that they don't leave the cell.

With the sun setting, he starts to shiver as the cold takes a hold of him. The former musketeers doesn't want to give his captors the satisfaction, so he tries to hide the shivering as good as he can. It doesn't work though.

"Freezing cold, huh?" A guard laughs as he walks by. "Not as cold as your wife who searches for warmth in another man's arms." The guard stops abrupt at the command and walks towards the monk. "What did you say?" "You heard me," Aramis grins at the fury in the guards eyes. However, his smile fades, as he is being hit in the gut several times – leaving him to gasp for air. "You're a real troublemaker, aren't you?" The guard spits to Aramis' feet before walking away, shaking his head furious.

The first rays of sunshine lighten the sky, as the leader – Grimaud, Aramis thinks to have heard – comes up to the former musketeer. "You're no monk. Or maybe you are but you haven't always been one." Aramis keeps his mouth shut for once, not sure what answer would be the right to say. He feels Grimaud's hand on his collar, lifting him up until his feet don't touch the ground anymore. "We found the weapons in the storage room. The pauldron. You're a musketeer, am I right?"

"Don't know what… you're talking 'bout." Aramis hisses between short breaths, as he tries to get some air into his lungs. He feels how his feet collide with the ground again, only thanks to his vessels he isn't falling down too, as his legs give in. Grimaud ignores the comment, as he is already sure that the monk in front of him has to be one of the kings guards. "My men have seen you with children yesterday. Where are they?" 

If looks could kill, Grimaud would already be dead. But unfortunately, they can't and Aramis is bound to a wagon and can't do it by himself. He remains silent, even as he is beaten several times. Blood runs out of his nose, which he is sure is broken by now. The monk feels a burning pain exploding in his rips, as another stroke hits him there. Gasping for air he leans his head back against the wagon.

"I ask you again: Where are the children?" "Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you," he spits out. Grimaud shrugs, "Okay then. GET HIM OUT!" Aramis watches how brother Gabriel is brought to the courtyard and pushed to the ground roughly. "Leave him alone!" The former musketeer fights against the ropes, hopelessly. His eyes widen at shock as he sees the gun in a guards hand. "NO!" In the same moment he shouts, a shot echoes through the courtyard. Brother Gabriel lifeless body lays in the mud.

Aramis gulps down the fury and fear, that's about to come up. His gaze wanders from the still form of his brother to Grimaud. "He was an innocent man of god." Never, Aramis has heard of such cruel men. Killing and slaughtering monks in their own monastery – what would they do to the children?

"For every unanswered question and every lie, one of the monks will die. So tell me again, where are the children?"

Aramis feels how his legs shake and his vision getting blurry as he looks at brother Gabriel once again. He can't betray the children, but he can't endure to see his brothers being slaughtered because of him. All the adrenaline from before, leaves his body, making him suddenly weak and tired. Aramis shakes his head, then lets it fall down to his chest. "Please. Do whatever you want to me, I'm lost anyway. But leave these innocent men alone."

"That's not an answer." As Grimaud is about to order another monk to the courtyard, Aramis head shots up again. "No. I will tell. Don't kill any one… I will tell," he whispers defeated. "But first tell me, what'll you do with them?"

Grimaud eyes the musketeer skeptically. "That's none of your business. Now, tell me."

Aramis waits until the guards have finally left, before rubbing his wrists against the wood fast. He has noticed that the rope isn't very strong a while ago. A triumphantly smile lays on his lips, as he finally feels the rope snap. He is alone in the courtyard by now. He has told them that there were fifteen children, as he had counted at least ten men in the monastery. They would need to go all to catch all of the children. Of course, he had sent them to a different place – to the washhouse, right at the other side of the building as the cells. Aramis loosens the ropes around his feet before running towards the chapel. When the monks are gone, there is no one left to kill for Grimaud. No one he can threaten, to make Aramis talk. By now, Aramis is sure has made it out of the monastery, getting help. He has to keep the children hidden just a little bit more.

He rushes into the chapel, to find his brothers on the benches praying. "Brothers," he speaks out of breath. Heads turn towards the former musketeer. "We don't have much time left. Come with me."  
Aramis runs out of the chapel again, checking every now and then if the monks were still behind him. He runs over to the gate, opening it enough that someone could crawl beneath it. "Get out of here. Fast."

The moment the first guards return, the last monk crawls through the gate. Aramis lets it fall with a heavy sigh, before raising his arms in defeat. As long as the monks are safe and the children still hidden, there is no need to fight. Shall they do to him what they want, there's nothing he hadn't endured before.

Aramis finds himself bound to the wagon again. This time the guards had made sure to tie the ropes to tightly, that the blood stops to floss into his fingers and feet. A rope is now also bound around his neck, making sure he can't move any more than to look to the left and right, but even then rope cuts into the sensitive skin.

"You injured two of my men, hid the children from me, lied to me and helped the monks to escape. I think you may should learn to have some respect, don't you?" Aramis huffs, and would shake his head if he movement wouldn't cut his skin open.

"I heard monks flog themselves when they've sinned. Wouldn't this be a appropriate lesson, hm?"

Aramis feels his bounds loosen, just to be gripped by his arms and dragged a few steps away from the wagon. His shirt is ripped open on the backside. Aramis tries to prepare himself for the pain, he knows that would come. He tries to black out the fear that spreads in his chest, and the memories of the last time he has been flogged in the prison by Rochefort. A rough laugh makes him jerk. "Seems as there was someone fast than me." Aramis feels Grimaud's gaze on his back, on the scars deforming his skin and remembering at all what've done wrong four years ago. The reasons why he has left Paris.

"I will try something different then." Aramis doesn't dare to turn his head to see what Grimaud is doing. He just tenses up and waits for the pain. It seems like hours until the pain finally comes. A burning sensation spreads through his back, making him grunt. He feels the heat at his skin, feels it burning – smells it. Aramis tries desperately not to let the contents of his stomach out, while he tries to get away from the unbearable pain. His knees buckle, as the forge is taken away from his skin, but the pain remains. Wouldn't it be for the guards holding him upwards, he would be already lying face down in the mud.

"Now tell me again, _Musketeer_. Where are the children?"

"Go to hell." Aramis tires to say, but it comes out that a pained whisper.

"I fear, my friend, you're the one in purgatory right now. Not me." Grimaud grins, before he holds the forge to one of Aramis thighs.

Luc nearly collapses as he arrives at the camp of the soldiers. Before the boy can hit the ground, two strong hands catch him. "Steady, boy." Porthos eyes the dirty and exhausted boy concerned as he sits him down carefully. "Help," Luc says between sharp breaths. "Monastery- I… help," He holds his hand to his chest as if this could steady his breath. He looks at the three soldiers hovering over him. "Please help." Luc feels a water skin being pressed into his hands and takes it gratefully. "Now calm down, boy. Tell us, where shall we help?"

Luc, who's breath is more steady by now, looks up to Athos. "The monastery in Douai… there were these men… they killed the abbot and caught the monks. I managed to get out to get help… please I don't know what they will do to the children." Athos, who has as much flinched as d'Artagnan and Porthos at the mentioning of Douai, tries also to focus on other things than Aramis. "There are children too?" Luc nods, taking another sip out of the skin.

"How many men are there?" "I don't know… fifteen maybe?" "And when did it happen?" "Yesterday morning."

Athos turns to his friends, discussing what to do. "We need to help them," d'Artagnan says as if was the easiest thing to do. "We can't just leave the camp," Porthos reminds him. Athos sighs. "We can't let these monks die" and _Aramis_ , he ads in his mind, "I will take full responsibility as the Captain."

With horses it's not far away from the camp. Just a few hours later, the musketeers and Luc arrive at the monastery. Athos had ordered ten more soldiers to come with them, as they didn't know how many men would be waiting for them.

Aramis is barely conscious as his body falls to the ground. He moans as another wave of pain takes hold him. The monk notices the agitation around him, men running through the courtyard. Then a dull sounds reaches his ears, as something would pound against wood. He gathers his strength to lift his gaze. As the gate comes in his sight he believes to see the wooden gate bend with every pound that echoes through the monastery. Aramis wonders if he was hit on the head, but no – it bulges indeed. With one last pound, the gate falls open. The monk lowers his gaze again, as he tries to stay conscious. He can't let go, he has to be there for the children. He can't betray them, he has to stay awake.

Screams and shouts fill the monastery, men are killed in the house of god. Times feels meaningless to Aramis, as he feels hands grip his arms. Not again, he leads. Not again. He clenches his eyes shut and groans, as the burns on his back and thighs wrap him again in agony. "Aramis." His name is called from far away, as if someone spoke through a wall. "Stay awake, 'Mis. It's us. Porthos, d'Artagnan and Athos. You're save." Aramis feels his head spin at the words, as nothing seems to make any sense to him now. "The children," he mutters, before he finally falls unconsciousness.

The children are found several minutes later with the help of Luc. They are scared, as they're lead out of the dark cell, but healthy and alive. Marie runs up to the unconscious man the moment she sees him. "Brother Aramis," The girl grabs his hand scared. Aramis, regaining his senses slowly, squeezes it instinctively. Then, his eyes flutter open. Marie is the first one who comes into his view – a enormous weight falls from his shoulders in this moment. "You fine?" He asks with a raspy voice, what courses the Musketeers to laugh slightly. Only now, the monk notices that there are others too. He turns his head to the familiar laughs, his heart fastens to beat as he recognizes his brothers. "You're here," he mutters in disbelief, trying to push himself up as it got uncomfortable laying on his stomach. D'artagnan was quickly by his side, helping him to sit. Aramis hissed, as his burned thigh makes contact with the ground. "We should ask you if you're fine. Not the other way around," Adele smiles at the man who was a father figure for the last years to her. "I'm fine," he assures, still overwhelmed to see his brothers again.

"You saved us," Aramis says after a while. "Thank you."  
Athos shakes his head, patting his shoulder. "You saved the children and the monks. We did not much."

 _I'm thinking about doing a second part, with just the four musketeers talking and caring for each other after they finally met again after these four years. If you would be interested, just let me know._


	20. Purgatory (2)

**Purgatory part 2**

Aramis sighs as he is laid down on a soft bed, as the moody ground got quite uncomfortable with the time. Porthos and Athos leave the room immediately to look after the children and find the monks Aramis had saved. D'Artagnan was the first to volunteer to treat to the wounds on the marksman's back, even though Aramis has said several times that he would be fine. The Gascon looks at his friend with pity in his eyes, while he wets a towel. "You always seem to find trouble, hm?" Aramis smiles weakly at the boy, who seems to have grown so much in the last year. Even though his face has still the boyish features, Aramis notices the look in his eyes – the one of a man who has seen horrible things, he won't ever forget. He notices the scars on his skin, some will soon fade some will last forever. The monk hisses, as a towel is placed on his burning skin in order to clean it. D'Artagnan frowns as he notices the scars under the red spots. "When were you whipped?" Concern rises in the Gascon. He has never thought Aramis would be one of these religious people who flog themselves in order to pay for their sins, but what if the time in the monastery had changed him? "Not important." Aramis mumble follows a pained groan as the towel comes in contact with his skin again. He never told his brothers from what had happened in the time he was a prisoner. He never told them from Rocheforts sick and twisted mind, from the things he did to take revenge on the former musketeer. It wouldn't have helped anyone if they had known. It was easier for Aramis to not tell and just leave for the sake of the ones he loves. He had already brought enough trouble to them, he didn't want to bother them anymore.

"Oh I think it is. Tell me 'Mis." D'Artagnan puts a salve carefully on the burned spots before wrapping Aramis torso and thigh in dressings.

"Tell what?" None of them has noticed how Athos has entered the room and now he is standing beside d'Artagnan, looking down to Aramis. The monk sits up with a wince, ignoring the pain it courses. "Nothing of importance." He runs his hand through his hair – something he always did when frustrated or insecure. "He has scars on his back, from a whip probably." The Gascon says eagerly to his Captain, not caring about the look Aramis shoots to him. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Athos frowns. "What happened, Aramis?"

"As I already said, nothing of importance. There is no need to talk about wounds healed a long time ago. Where's Porthos?" Athos doesn't miss how the monk tries to change the topic, but lets it happen anyways. He will get him to talk later. "With the children. Little Marie seems to be very interested in him." As Aramis tries to rise from the bed, d'Artagnan keeps him down gently. "You should rest, brother. Furthermore, I don't think it's a good idea to meet Porthos now. Give him some time."

"Time?"

D'artagnan nods, an unreadable look on his face. "He is still angry with you. Because you left us. He feels a bit… let down by you." Aramis gulps, eyes wandering between the Gascon and Athos. He has never thought about it like this. He had left to keep them save. So many people had already been in danger because of him, it was the best to leave – he thought. Of course he knew that his brothers would miss him, he missed them too. But he had never thought they would be angry with him. He had seen their disappointment as he announced to not fight in war with them, he knew they were hurt – but angry?

"Do you think the same way he does? That I had let you down?" The words leave his lips slowly, as speaking it out loud it would make it real. Athos shakes his head. "No. Of course we were frustrated and hurt. We missed you, 'Mis. But no, I wasn't angry with you. But still - the information that you would leave, came out of nowhere for us. We didn't even think once that you might leave us and then you just went. Just give Porthos time to sort things out, okay?" Aramis nods, his thoughts stumbling about what the Captain had said. His chest tightens. He had let them down. He had hurt his brothers.

"I'm sorry. I thought it would be the best for everyone, when I leave." D'artagnan sits down beside the monk, wrapping his arm around his shoulder – careful to not touch the burns – "Don't apologies for what you did. You had your reasons to do so and it's still your choice to decide what to do with your life, not ours."

Aramis nods, even though the guilt won't leave him. "I'm tired." With that, the monks lays down, turning his back to his brothers and closes his eyes. Athos sighs and leaves, the Gascon right behind him. But Aramis doesn't fall asleep, as his mind won't find any peace. He had let them down.

"Will he be alright?" Athos looks at the boy, _Luc_ he remembers. "He'll be fine. He always is."

"So, are the stories real? About you musketeers? And brother Aramis – he was a musketeer too?" D'Artagnan smiles at the excitement sparkling in the orphans eyes as he confirms it. "He was – probably still is – the best marksman Paris had seen in years. And a very good field medic too."

"And you're the famous d'Artagnan, who fears for nothing?" The Gascon laughs, "He told you that?"  
Luc nods, still overwhelmed by seeing the Musketeers brother Aramis had always talked about in reality. He then looks back to the other children and Porthos, who is carrying Marie on his strong arms. "Porthos doesn't seem that scary as I had thought."

"He will be if you annoy him," D'Artagnan smiles, walking after Athos who makes his way over to their friend. "His wounds will heal, even though there will be some nasty scars." The Gascon explains to Porthos, who just nods uninterested. He won't show how concerned he was, as they found Aramis in the courtyard barely conscious. No matter how angry he is, he still couldn't endure losing his friend. But Porthos is too proud to let it show, he wears his mask of apathy and rage. "We should leave as soon the monks return. There is nothing we can do anyway."

The Captain shakes his head in agreement, as his look wanders over the children running around the courtyard, glad they're all unharmed. He will have to talk to Aramis soon. He shall come with them, back where he belongs. Athos doesn't think that his brother his truly happy with his life in the monastery. He knows him well enough to know that he misses the danger, the excitement that comes with the life of a musketeer. As religious Aramis might be, there is this part of his soul that seeks for a soldiers life. What had happened now just proves him right. Aramis could have behaved as the other monks, staying calm and pray to god to save the children and the others. But he didn't. He protected them with his life, did everything to keep them save. He risked it all so the others would be fine.

"When will brother Aramis be back to health?" Marie looks up to the three men with big eyes. "He promised us to tell us something about Paris and the palace in the next lesson."

"I have never been sick," Aramis voice echoes through the courtyard, as he comes down the stairs slowly. The musketeers doesn't miss the tensed look on his face, as every step sends a new wave of pain through his body. Soon the children are gathering around him, little Marie hugging his legs. He takes her in his arms, ignoring the pain.

Porthos, d'Artagnan and Athos watch how Aramis talks to the children. How he makes sure everyone is fine, how he reassures that nothing bad had happened to him. How he comforts them, as they hear that brother Gabriel won't come back. How he hugs them tightly, how he smiles as they laugh. They watch how the children cling to him as he was their father. How no one dares to leave his side, how they look up to him and listen to every word that comes out of his mouth, as if it was the word of god himself.

And Athos starts to wonder if it would be the right thing to take him away from them. These children have lost already so much. They have lost their homes and family because of the war, and now as they got someone as good hearted as Aramis in their lifes, Athos shall be so selfish to take his friend away from them?

After a while, Aramis walks over to the musketeers. He takes in the look of every single one of them, so glad to see them alive and in one piece. All these years he had wondered how they are and it calms his heavy heart to see them by himself. "I just wanted to thank you for helping – saving – us. I know it's not something you're supposed to do, as you're needed at the front. Still you came and saved us. I will make sure that you get something warm in your stomachs before you return."

"We did nothing you wouldn't do, too. And even with you being a monk, it's still all for one, right?" D'Artagnan grins, holding his hand out. Athos puts his own on it, smiling gently. Aramis hesitates a few moments, before laying his hand on his brothers. Porthos huffs, turning away. "One for all," Aramis mumbles as he pulls away. His heart cracks at the sight of Porthos being angry with him. "Porthos." Athos and d'Artagnan turn away, giving both of them some space. "Porthos." The soldier turns around to face Aramis. "What? What do you want? Do you want to apologies for that you've left? Do you want me to forgive you? 'Cause that, you can forget. I won't forgive you that easily."

"Porthos, please. Let us talk about it. I needed to leave. I didn't do it for myself, I did it for you. In order to keep you, the queen, the dauphin – to keep France save. I brought so much trouble to you, I brought you all in danger. I had to go, so you could be save." "Have you ever thought that we don't care that what you did brought us in danger? Because this wasn't as worth as not having you by our side. You just left us, not caring that we needed you. With you with us, I never had to look what's behind me, because I knew you had my back. But you left, not caring about that. We never wanted you to leave, we never thought that anything you did was a burden. You never was a burden. Not having you with us – that was a burden. Was. We have learned to live without you, Aramis." 

With that, Porthos turns around and heads towards the gate, where the monks are coming through now. Aramis looks at his friend a few seconds, before walking away, too. He heads to the chapel and kneels in front of the altar, his eyes fixed on the heavy cross above it. "I've always thought I did the right thing. I just wanted to do the right thing. I – I never thought that it could hurt them so much. Oh god, please forgive me. Please help them, please ease their pain and fury – they shall not suffer because of me. I'm not worth that they spend their time being angry with me. They shall forget and live on as they did before." Tears are filling the monks eyes by now, his voice shakes as he sends his pleads to god. "I don't ask you to help them forgive for my sake. I don't deserve their or your forgiveness anyway. But help them to forgive them for their own sake. They shall not live with any fury in their hearts. They shall be free from any burden, they shall be free from me." Aramis sobs, kissing the crucifix around his neck. "Please stand by their side and give them strength."

"We don't need god to look over us," Athos stops a few feet behind Aramis kneeling body. The monk doesn't look up from his crucifix, but stops praying – curious what Athos has to say. "We need you with us, Aramis. No god can save us from a bullet hitting us in the back. But a brother, a musketeer can. And not god can help Porthos to overcome his grief, only you can. God may help you and god may give you strength, but we will need you by our side for that. You were the one who spoke reassuring words, when the world started to break apart. You were the one, who's optimism gave us hope. You were the one saving us, when we were wounded. You were the one who was there for us, not god." 

Aramis sighs, as emotions mix. He still feels so guilty for letting them down. Hearing how much comfort they got because he was there just lets him feel even more guilty. Still, his heart warmth as he hears how much he meant to these men. Confusion and insecurity spread in his chest, as he understands what Athos is asking him to. Leave the monastery, fight again.

Aramis feels the disunity in his heart and mind, he had always felt. The conflict between religion and faith. You shall not kill. But killing saves so many lifes. You shall not sin, but sinning makes him feel alive. He had hoped that the life in the monastery would ease this disunity in him, but it never did. He felt restless all these years. He had thought about this so many times, fearing he will just have to live with it. He won't ever find peace in the life of a monk, as his heart arches of excitement and love. But he won't find peace on the battlefield either, as he feels his sins as an enormous weight on his shoulders. But, his brothers were always there to help to carry that weight.

Aramis raises slowly, sighing. "It seems I was never supposed to be a monk, anyways."


	21. Childhood memories (1)

**Childhood memories**

 **I decided to take you on a short journey through Aramis' childhood. Maybe going to do the same with the other three too, if I feel like it. Hope you like it.  
I still have some ideas of your on my list but your welcomed to give me some new ones!**

 _She presses the little boy against her chest protectively. Feeling his steady heartbeat she smiles sadly. "I will make sure nothing bad will ever happen to you, mi hijo." She places a gently kiss on his head, then humming a melody in a soothing rhythm. She tries to not think how the boy will have to grow up – between whores. She tries to not think about the boy growing up without a father figure in his life. She just thanks god that he's alive. At least one man that will stay at her side._

"Mamá! Look what I've found," Rene shouts out, a big smile on his lips. "What is it?" She wonders over to her son, still so young and innocent. He opens his hands, revealing a young squirrel. Then his smile turns into a frown. "It seems hurt, mamà." She takes a look at the animal, noticing the tiny paw that is turned into a unnatural position. "Come with me, hijo." She leads Rene into her rooms, taking the way through the kitchen as always so he would go unnoticed by the guests. "Put it down here."

Rene does as his mother says and puts the squirrel onto the desk carefully. With big brown eyes he watches his mother as she bandages the tiny paw. "You need to feed him and keep him warm until he can survive by himself," she instructs and smiles, as she notices how Rene's chest fills with proud at being given such an important task. "I will do everything for him!" He exclaims, before running to the closet. He gets out a small wooden box and places a towel in it, so the squirrel will have it soft and warm.

She watches how the boy runs out of the room, just to come back with some milk a minute later. Now it's her chest that fills with proud, as she watches her young Rene caring for the squirrel with so much love and tenderness. He has a great heart and will grow up to be a great man.

 _Rene got older and started to understand what was happening around him. He knows where he lives and what his mother does to provide him with food and a home. She had always feared for this time to come. She feared for his reaction. He would be furious, ashamed or disappointed. He would have all right to do it. But she was wrong. Rene isn't ashamed or furious. Why should he be? He doesn't care what the other boys are saying, he doesn't think that his mother is a bad woman. He doesn't think she is a sinner. She is always there for him when he needs comfort. She makes sure he has everything he needs and gives him more love anyone else could. He knows that being a prostitute isn't the best work to, but she does what's necessary to survive._

 _But being old enough to understand this, he also knows that prostitutes can't work as such for ever. As they get older their customers get less until they won't be able to earn enough to live. Rene starts to fear what might become of his mother and him._

"No me fuerces!" Rene pleads, grabbing the hands of his mother. "I can't leave you alone, I can't go with him. Please, don't make me do this, mama." Tears roll down her face as she shakes her head. "Lo siento, mi hijo." "Please, listen. I can't go. I couldn't live not knowing how you are. I can't let you alone!" Rene grabs her hand tighter, refusing to let go. He can't let her alone, he needs to protect her. He has no husband or brother or father looking for her. He would be so alone. Alone between all these greedy men. No he can't go.

"Come now, son." The rough voice of the man that claims to be his father rips him out of his thoughts. "Go," his mother says more gently. She places her hand on his cheek, feeling the stubbles that are starting to grow. He is so mature for his age, so grown up – still he will ever be her little boy. He gulps, hugging her one last time before letting go. "Te amo, mamá." "Te amo, René." She places one last kiss on his forehead before pushing him in his fathers direction gently. Her heart shatters as she watches the two men ride away. But it will be the best for him to live with the d'Herblays. He will have an education, a chance in life. He won't have to live along with whores and can start a proper live. He will be married soon – such a handsome boy won't have a problem finding a woman that adores him.

Rene looks at the men as they ride away. This man – his father . "You will stop talking Spanish immediately Rene. I won't tolerate it." Aramis gulps, nodding slowly. He knows that there are people in France that dislike the Spanish , even hate them, but he hadn't thought his father would be one of them.

He wonders how his life with the d'Herblays will be.

 _Rene ran out of the house, already out of breath. He looks back, fear spreading in his chest as he sees his father following him. "Mierda," he curses as he notices how his father is nearly catching up with him. Even though he is a lot younger than him, his father is still a very athletic and fast man. "Stop running, Rene. It won't help you!" Rene knows his father is right, but the fear makes him run further. Until a weight collides to his back and he falls down, trying to get out of the grip of his father. "Please father, I didn't mean to. It was an accident. Please don't." He pleads fall on deaf ears as he is being dragged towards the house. "Just because your mother was one, it doesn't mean you can be a whore to. Sleeping with a girl before marriage – what have you even thought?!" Rene holds back the comment, that his father and mother wasn't married either, as he knows it will bring him just more trouble._

 __ _"_ _What will the people in the village think, huh? My son, going to a priest school, impregnates the daughter of the smith! You're a shame to the family." Rene is being pushed down to the ground, noticing that they're in his room by now. "Confess your sins." His father hovers over him almighty, glancing down with fury in his eyes. Rene gulps, kneeling in front of the small altar. "Forgive me father for that I've sinned." He looks down at the holy book, hands shaking. As he doesn't keep going, his father gets even more angry with him. "Do as you're told! Or aren't you even regretting your sins?"_

 _"_ _Please father, don't make me do it." Tears fill his eyes as he looks at the utensil lying beside the book. The man huffs, taking the flog in his hands. "Then I will do it." Aramis eyes widen in shock as his shirt is ripped open. He struggles against the tight grip on his shoulders – hopelessly. "Please don't, father. Please, I know what I did wrong, please do-" A pained scream stops his pleads, as the whip makes contact with his scarred skin. He clenches his eyes shut and hold onto the table to keep himself somehow upright. "Please stop," he begs as his skin is torn apart. A third stroke follows, before his father places the flog on the table again. "Wash and dress yourself. We will talk to Father Levevre, he will know what to do."_

 _Rene holds back his tears as he tries to clean the wounds on his back. He stops, as his door is opened and Justine, his half-sister, enters. "Let me help you," he says with a sympathetic smile and takes the wet towel out of his hands. She cleans his wounds carefully. "I won't bandage them, father wouldn't like it." She explains before leaving again. She knows that Rene doesn't want to be seen like this._

 _Aramis can't hold back a sob as he puts on a shirt, not because of the burning pain but because of the humiliation. Because of the new scars forming on his back, always remembering on what he had done. Eyes drawn to the ground he walks down the stairs and follows his father into the village. He wonders if his wounds are still bleeding and straining his white shirt as he feels the people curious eyes on him. He enters the church with a heavy heart, not daring to look into the priests face._

 _"_ _Your father has already told me what happened, my son." He says, voice much more gently as his fathers. "I know you have already confessed your sins and atoned for them. God will forgive you my son." Rene feels as if a bit of the heavy weight on his shoulders is being lifted by the soothing words of the priest. "What shall we do now?" Monsieur d'Herblay asks curious, holding back his anger._

 __ _"_ _God would want that you marry that poor girl. Maybe then her lost soul has the chance for absolution." Renes eyes widen at the words. Marry? It's nothing special for boys in his age to marry but he just doesn't feel ready for it, even though he loves Isabelle._

He looks back to the house with a mix of sorrow and relief. Even though his father was very strict, he had thought him so much – for what he is grateful. Leaving him and Justine behind isn't easy for him.

But after everything that happened he can't stay here. He has to go away, anywhere but here. He kicks his horse slightly and makes his way towards Paris. After losing their child, Isabelle was different. A demon raged in her, the priest had said. But Rene knows better than. He just was lost, alone, sad. He wanted to be there for her, marry her anyway and make everything better. But then, on a rainy morning, she was gone. He father had hidden her from him. He had searched everywhere, but she was nowhere to be found. He not only had lost his child, but his fiancé and first real love, too. And then… just a few days later, he had found the letter in a long forgotten box in the cellar. The letter that shattered the already broken pieces of his heart into ash. The letter that his mother had died. Years ago. He never knew, never had the chance to bury her. He was never able to say goodbye.

In this moment he had decided to leave. Leave the d'Herblays, leave the small village. To leave his old life behind and start something new. He decided to leave Rene behind and take on a new name. Aramis seemed fittingly. He leaved the sorrow and pain hidden in the back of his mind, decided that a mask of happiness and easiness would fit better.


	22. What I wanted, what I got (1)

_I'm working on an idea for "Felicity531" at the moment but needed a break from it to get new ideas, so I decided to write this. Basically just Aramis whump and some Annamis. I apologies for the long time I didn't update, but we finally have some hot days in Germany and of course I'm spending them at the pool. Moreover I just can't concentrate on anything with temperatures like this._

It's the moment where Aramis stops talking and glares into the direction of the woods, where the others stop with their light conversations too. "What is it?" D'Artagnan whispers while he searches for the reason of Aramis' discomfort. The marksman squints as he focuses on something between the trees. "Maybe it's just an animal," he mutters, still not turning away from the movement he had noticed. Athos shares a look with Porthos, both reaching for their weapons. "Or raiders," the Captain says, following Aramis look. As if on his command, a dozen men come out of the cover of the trees, weapons raised. "AMBUSH!" Athos yells and commands ten of his men to guard the wagon of the king and queen, while the others face their opponents. Bullets fly through the air, hitting wood, skin and bones. Blood flows, darkening the green beneath their feed. Men die, good men and raiders. The clash of metal echoes through the battlefield, vanishing into the sound of death.

As Porthos notices it, it's too late. The man behind him pushes his sword through his shoulder, forcing the soldier to let his own weapon fall to the ground. Porthos let's out a pained growl, before he throws himself on the raider, punching him with his uninjured arm until his face is nothing more than a ruin. He stumbles back to his feet, looking around. The raiders are still outnumbering them as more and more are coming from the woods. He relieved to see his brother still breathing, fighting for their and the kings life. _The king and the Queen_! Porthos turns to the wagon, shocked to see that there are just three men left. The others are laying in the grass, well placed bullet wounds in their heads and hearts.

As another shower of bullets flies through the battlefield, it's nothing but chaos. Aramis notices how the wagon's doors are opened, he hears the screams of the Queen, sees the kings struggle against two raiders. He stumbles through the dead bodies, pushes his blade into some raiders on his way to the wagon, until he has the opportunity to shoot one of the men who holds the king.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a familiar feature running towards a line of trees, three men behind her. The Queen. Aramis shoots one more time, freeing the king from his captors. As Athos and d'Artagnan are with the king, and Porthos is on his way to them, the marksman turns around and runs towards the woods. He manages to throw his dagger into the back of one of the men and then steals a gun from the now dead raider. Still running, he shoots the second one. The Queen is still running, stumbling over the long silk of her dress. Aramis gathers the last bit of energy left and runs even faster, with one jump he catches the last man and brings him to the ground. He manages to punch him into the face a few times, before he's the one lying on the ground, the raider sitting on his chest.

Aramis feels the blood running out of his nose and groans, as his bones break under the force of the other mans fists. Somehow, the soldier manages to free one of his arms and grabs the raiders throat. He feels the nails dig into his wrists as he squeezes harder. Aramis feels how life leaves the body in his hands and lets him fall to the side. He glances around, to find the Queen kneeling in the dirt – crying. As fast as possible the marksman stumbles to his feet and runs over to the woman. "Your majesty, are you unharmed?" He eyes her worryingly but finds nothing but dirt on her clothes.

She nods slightly and swipes away her tears. "But you're not." Anne stands up slowly and walks over to the musketeer. "It's nothing but a few scratches," Aramis comforts her, before he looks around. "We need to get back." And then, he notices he has no idea where they came from. Around the two is nothing but trees, every single one looks just the other, no fields are to be seen. Anne notices the look on Aramis face, shaking her head. "I don't know where to go either."

The musketeers sighs, collecting the weapons from the raider he had killed. "I think we should-" The sound of a gunshot interrupts Aramis. "DOWN!" He shouts, turning around and searches for the marksman. Anne obeys and hides behind the trunk of a tree, hands clasped above her head, while her protector notices relieved that the gun from the raider is still loaded. Another bullet flies through the air hitting the tree the Queen is hiding behind. Again, a few seconds silence before another shot echoes through the forest. It's probably only one lone marksman, as he needs some time to reload, Aramis supposes. By now he has found out the direction the bullets are coming from and searches between the trees just to find the marksman sitting on a branch high in a tree. Aramis takes a few steps to the side to get a better view and aims. The sound of two guns being fired is the only thing Anne hears. Then there is silence, a loud rumble follows. Then again, silence. The Queen dares to stand up on shaking legs and looks around the trunk.

She lets out a shocked cry and clasps her hands over her mouth as she sees the body on spread on the ground. He's still moving, his head turns around, apparently searching for something. His grip around the handle of the gun is hard enough to let his knuckles turn white. Anne hurries over to her musketeers and kneels beside him, not caring that dirt and blood are ruining her beautiful blue dress.

"Aramis!" She takes his face into her hands and looks right into his watery eyes. A weak smile appears on his lips, his face turning white as snow. "You're unharmed," he notices relieved. Anne nods, not caring about the tears that stream down her flawless face. "But you're not." Just now, the young Queen notices the blood leaking from Aramis' left shoulder. "You've been hit!" She should have known it before, right in the moment where silence fell over the forest, but only now where she sees the damage done to her protector, she really understands it. "Oh god." Her shaking hands fumble with the fabric above the wound, ripping it apart and revealing a small gap in the man's shoulder. It may be not big, but still too much blood leaves his body.

"Don't worry your Majesty, I will be fine," the soldier says, his voice rough with exhaustion and pain as he sits up. He takes a look at the wound himself, sighing. "It will need stitching, though. Is it-" he grits his teeth as another wave of pain runs through his body. "Went it right through?"

Anne needs a few seconds to understand the question until she looks over his shoulder, noticing another whole in his skin at the back of his shoulder. "Y-Yes."

"That's actually quite good," Aramis assures and takes the shaking hands of the Queen in his, still a small smile on his lips. "I just need a needle." He ignores the protests of the queen, as he stands up swaying slightly. Anne looks around, lost. She never learned how to treat a wounded or how to find a way out of a forest. She feels useless.

Aramis places his right hand on his injured arm, trying to take some weight off the shoulder. "We need to get back before more men find us." He takes the spend gun and puts it in his belt, before he rips his coat apart. With a pained groan, he wraps the fabric around the wound and hopes that it will stop the bleeding.

"I think we had the sun in front of us as we travelled – so we will just walk into this direction." The Queen just nods, still overwhelmed by what happened just a few minutes ago.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

"It's been hours and no one has seen where they went!" Porthos kicks against a rock, growling. "The Queen will be fine, she's with Aramis." Athos assures and none of his brothers misses the look in his eyes as the Captain notices that Aramis is alone with the Queen.

"Still we need to find them. We don't know how many of these bastards are after them." D'Artagnan sighs, rubbing his thumb against his temple. Desperately he tries to remember something from the fight, aa movement of the Queen or Aramis, something that could tell them in which direction they fled, but there is nothing. He was so concentrated to save the King from the grasps of the raiders, that he totally forgot about everything else.

"I know. But we have to get the King to safety too. We can't search for them with the king with us!"

Porthos looks over to Louis who sits by the fire, knees drawn up to his chest. "We will split. We three will start searching for Aramis and the Queen, while the others bring the King to his cousin. It's probably not more than a day ride."

 _So, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but since I just can't concentrate any longer but I want to update so badly I will leave you with a cliffhanger!_


	23. What I wanted, what I got (2)

Before we begin, I wanted to inform you of some things.

Maybe (probably not) you're wondering why I'm updating some storys so often, some for quite some time not... One reason is that I sometimes need some distance to a story to get some new ideas, but the other reason is that my Laptop broke down a few days ago. I got a new one, but all the chapters I already wrote or started to write are still on my old one and I will need some time to get them back or rewrite them. So I will msotly write on the storys where I don't need my saved documents. I hope you can understand.

Anne's heart stops as she hears a pained grunt and as she turns around she sees Aramis half standing - half sitting against a tree, his face drawn in pain as he clasps at his arm. She hurries over him, holding her dress up to not fall over the fabric. "Are you alright?" Her hands gently cups his cheeks, her thumb stroking over the hard stubbles of his beard. "I'm fine, your majesty." With a grunt, Aramis pushes himself up again to take some more stumbling steps. Anne's gaze falls to the dressing around his wound which is already blood soaked. "It's getting dark, shouldn't we take a rest?" She asks as she catches up with him. "We need to get as far as possible."

The Queen sighs, seeing the hidden pain in the musketeers eyes. "You need a rest, Aramis!" The marksman shakes his head. "I'm fine. We really need to get further."

Protesting, Anne stops and crosses her arms in front of my chest. Seeing no other choice, she has to play the spoiled lady she never wanted to be. "My feet sore and I am tired. We haven't eaten or drank in hours. I want to rest." Aramis twists his eyes, knowing exactly that this is just an act - still it's his Queen and he has to make sure that she is alright. "If you insist we will camp, but we should find a creek to get some water." Anne nods satisfied and follows her brave musketeer through the woods. Luckily they doesn't need to walk long until they find a small creek.

Aramis lits a fire and fills his water skin handing it over to the queen before he walks into the water, which is still cold from the long winter. "What are you doing?" Anne asks as she takes a few more sips from the skin. "Fishing." Her eyes widen as the musketeer throws his shirt at the shore. It's no new view for her, still she is stunned and surprised by it. It's been over a year since she has last seen him so... undressed. As much as she wants she just can't get her eyes rid of him. Frowning she notices beside some new scars blue and green bruises on his torso.

Satisfied with himself Aramis walks back to the Queen, not missing her eyes on his chest, as he brings three fishes. As he had already experienced the cooking skills of the Queen once, he decides to take over the cooking himself.

As both are fed, Aramis stands up again to dress himself. "You should rest now, your Majesty." Anne wants to protest, as Aramis needs to sleep to, but she knows him too well. So she nods and lays down on the muddy ground. "Here." Gently the marksman covers her with his cloak before he walks away.

Aramis makes his way back to the creek, cleaning his wound and dressing it again. The bleeding still hasn't stopped but without a needle there is nothing he can to against it, so he goes back to the small camp and sits down on the opposite of the Queen. He smiles as her blue eyes open, watching him with concern. "I can't sleep," Anne admits and sitws up, wrapping the cloak around her shoulders. "You should though. We still have quite a walk in front of us." "I know,but what if something happens when we - when I - sleep?"

Aramis laughs slightly. "Don' worry, I will make sure no harm will come to you, your Majesty." Still, he gives ehr one of the knives. Just to be sure.

"It's not me I'm worrying about." "You shouldn't spend your thoughts about me. I have been worse."

For a while they sit in silence, before Aramis looks up from the fire, laughing roughly. "You know, I always wanted to be able to be alone with you again. To spend some time with you without having to fear that someone could see us. I think my wish was fullfilled in quite an unwishing way." Smiling weakly, Anne walks over to him and sits beside the musketeer. "I had the same wish." "Maybe we should be more careful for what we wish." Aramis says as he looks back into the fire. "I couldn't be happier being here with you, Aramis. I mean, I could do without the bandtis trying to kill us but I am happy I'm stuck in this with you and not another musketeer or soldier. With you by my side I am sure we will make it through this." Carefully she takes his hand, squeezing it slighty. Aramis smiles, looking back into her eyes, a smile forming on his lips.

"I often think about what happened in the convent... Anne." She smiles, resting her head on his shoulders. "I often think about our son. I remember how happy I was, how good it felt, how pure it was. But then I rememmber in what danger I brought not only you but France too. My wish was just as selfish as my acts, which shouldn't be repeated."

"Are you regretting it?" "I don't. That's the problem. I've sinned and I would love to do it again."

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

It's in the early morning hours as half of the regiment searches for Aramis and the Queen in the wrong direction, the others are getting the King to safety.

Meanwhile, the two start to break down their camp. "If we find a road we can follow it. It will lead us to some kind of village, with luck maybe even to the King's cousin." Aramis says, as he fills the waterskin one last time and giving it to Anne.

"But what if these bandits are following? Aren't we an easy target on the road?"

The musketeer nods, pushing some branches out of the way. "We will have to risk this. We can also be lucky and meet with some traders or soldiers."

Just as hoped, they find a road just a few hours later. Since they left the safety of the woods and went on open space, Aramis got more cautious and nervous - turning around at each sound with his guns raised. Once he nearly shot an deer. "We need to get to the King's cousin soon," he mumbles, not liking being such an easy target.

By now the sun stands high on the sky urning down on them merciless. Anne is fumbling with her long thick skirts, trying to hold them up so some air get underneath them while Aramis has already cast-off his leather jacket. "You haven't drank since morning," Anne notices worried, not missing how the marksman sometimes stumbles and how slow he walks. "You need it more, your - DOWN!" Quite ungently Aramisd pushes the Queen to the ground, jumping up right after some bullets flew threw the air to draw his sword. Four bandtis are riding to them, as the Queen crawls behind a small bush, gripping tight at the knife given to her.

With ease, Aramis takes down the first horse and it's rider, but then the remaining three are jumping from their animals and are coming for him in the same time. Anne watches how her Musketeers swirls around, parelling one stroke after another until he sees a chance and manages to push his sword through the throat of one of his opponents. He pulls the blade out fastly and fends off another blow. But with only one sword, Aramis can't parre the second bandit, his dagger pushing through the marksmen's thigh. Grunting Aramis kills the other bandit, clasping to his leg. As Anne sees how the man who hurt the musketeer pulls out a gun, she makes a decision. Gathering all her braveness she runs over to the two fighters, pushing her knife into the mans shoulder. Suprised and injured he lets the gun fall down, giving Aramis the opportunity to finish him.

"We need to get away from here," Aramis grunts, still grabbing his thigh, blood running through his fingers. Anne nods, but stays where she is, looking down at the dead man. Her knife still sticking in his shoulder. A wet hand on her arm rips her from her thoughts. "We need to go, your Majesty." Once again, Anne nods before following Aramis along the road, leaving four corpses behind them.

"You shouldn't walk." She notices after the shock has left and her senses fully returned. "And you shouldn't have to fight for me. Seems we're both doing things we shouldn't do, right?" Aramis ignores her pleading to stop for a minute and dress his wound and just keeps on walking. "If we're on the right track we could reach the castle today."

Aramis gets paler with every hour, his walk slower. The waterskin is emptied long ago, the Queen getting exhausted as she isn't used to such long walks. As she is about to force Aramis to stop and take a rest, the musketeer stops himself. turning around to the Queen, she can see a weak but true smile on his face. "I think we made it." Following his finger, she sees a castle in the distance. With new hope and energy both of them start walking again - nearly running.

Out of breath Aramis knocks against the gates loud and often until they're opened roughly. "Who are you?" An ugly fat man asks, eyeing both of them critically. "This is Queen Anne of Austria and I am Aramis from the Kings Musketeers." Aramis announces and tries to stand up as straight as possible, desperate to not show his pain. "The woman can come in. Whether she is the Queen or not will be seen. You stay here and wait." Anne opens her mouth to prootest, but Aramis shakes his head. He can understand the man. Two people knocking at the gates, dirty, bloody and armed are saying they're the Queen and a Musketeer has to look suspecious. "I will wait then."

Reluctant Anne walks through the gates but not wihtout a last glance at her brave musketeer. As the gates are closes again, Aramis lets himself fall to the ground exhausted. He leans his head against the walls, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. "We made it." He repeats, before unconsciuosness takes over him.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

"Is that... Aramis?" Porthos jumps from his horse immediatly, running over to the slumped body by the gates. "What happened?" D'Artagnan asks more himself than anyone specific as he looks at his injured and unconscious brother.

"Hey 'Mis wake up." While Porthos carefully slaps the Medics cheeks, Athos pounds against the gates. Aramis eyes flutter open, his gaze unfocused, still he recognizes the familiar features of his friends. "She's save isn't she?"

"She is." As the gates are opened, Anne is rushing out of them still in her dirty dresses. Aramis turns his head slowly until he can see her. A relieved smile places on his dry lips. "That's good," he whispers before closing his eyes again in exhaustion.

"A bullet and a stab wound, some bruises... no broken bones beside his nose." Porthos exclaims before he carries his friend inside. "He's lost some blood but he will heal."


	24. Everything ends

The last mission

Everythings ends somehow, even the life of a Musketeer.  
As they entered the regiment none oft hem had ever spent a thought about a long life. They were soldiers and soldiers died in battle. It was comon knowledge and something each of them was accustomed to.

But somehow things always turned out different than they had thought, didn't it?  
In the end only two oft hem were still soldiers. Porthos, he had left Elodie and Marie back in Paris to fight at the front. He was a general now, he was still a soldier and he always hoped but never expected to return alive.  
D'Artagnan, still a musketeer, still a soldier. But he was the Captain now. He went to missions only scarce. Most of his time he spend in the saftey of his office or at the palace. He was happy about this save life as Constance announced her pregnancy.

Athos had left everything behind. He now lived a life in safety and happiness. His two sons and Sylvie showed him life from a side he had never seen before and sometimes he even forgot that he still had the heart of a soldier beating in his chest. But he could never forget it completly.

Aramis felt the kind of peace he had always searched for. He was able to be with the woman he loved and see hiss on everyday. But still, he never could call him son and he had to give up the life as a soldier – a part of his soul he couldn't hide forever.

And so many years went by and so many things happened. More years than any of them had ever thought to live to see.

„Musketeers are hard to kill." But they are not immortal. And so events took their turns and the unavoidable happend. None oft hem had seen him for three years as the message reached them.  
Porthos fell.

As he read the letter, it felt as if the paper burned his fingers. He gasped, letting the message fall down. First, he didn't feel sadness or fury – he felt empty. As if a part of his soul was ripped from him. D'artagnan had to sit down and reread the lines a thousand times, but the words never changed. He was gone.

Athos didn't know what to do. He had always been the one with a plan, who knew what to do or say. But this time, he was lost. And fort he first time in years he found reassurance on the ground of a bottle. As the image of his brother rushed through his mind, the way he laughed and how the sound echoed through the whole garrison – Athos threw the wine against the wall, letting it crash into thousand pieces, just like his heart.

The First Minister of France wasn't allowed to show his grief in front of all these people. The fact that the general had died was announced so insignificant as if Porthos hadn't been his brother. Aramis heard the shocked whispers as he left the room without any words. He didn't bow in front of Anne, he just went straight to his office, throwing the door shut. He didn't know what to feel first as everything overwhelmed him. But fury was the strongest of his feelings, causing him to scream out his lungs. The negotiations were almost at their end, war was supposed to end in a few day. „Just a few days more." Aramis muttered as guilt overwheled him. He hadn't been fast enough.

Mmmm

They saw each other only half a year later. Everythig had went too fast. D'Artagnan still didn't understood, still felt the blood of his bother on his hands.

He had been there, but he had been helpless. He remebered only pieces. He remebered how he fought, how he commanded his men to get the Queen and the Minsiter to safety. He rembered how Anne was save. He remembered Aramis by his side, not save but fighting. Fighting as the soldier he still had been in his heart. Then, there is blackness. The next thing he knew were the screams.

The blood ran over his hands as he tried to stop the bleeding, but there was already so much on the floor. Aramis had wrapped one hand around his crucifix and the other around d'Artagnan's. „I'm ready." He had whispered with a reassuring smile on his pale lips, before his body went limb.

D'artagnan was thankful for Athos by his side, he wasn't completly alone.

Mmm

Athos was alone. He may still had Sylvie and his sons, but he was alone. His brothers – all gone.  
D'Artagnan had been only 34 years old, his children still not old enough to work. He was too young, Athos though. But for a soldier, d'Artagnan wasn't that young. It had been time.

After the attack on the Queen, war once again broke out. It was heavier, bloodier than ever before. Brother against sister, Spain against France. And D'Artagnan had been determined to end this for ever, he had given everything – but in the end he was just as helpless in this war as everyone else.

He had died in battle, this was the least Athos had hoped for him. He didn't as the great soldier he had been, died in order to save the ones he loved.

Mmm

It had been twenty long and boring years. He had thought about returning tot he Musketeers more than once, but soon he was too old. And he had his family.  
He was happy as he closed his eyes fort he last time. Sylvie was long gone and his sons worked in Paris now. He longed to reuninte with his brothers, it had been way too long.


	25. Chapter 25

**Enough faith for all of us**

 _Since I love the religous sie of Aramis ( even if I'm everything but religious) I decided to dedicate a chapter to this one important character trait of my favorite musketeer._

 _I hope you enjoy this just as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
I would be thankful for your reviews as this story is kind of special to me._

 **La Rochelle, 1628**

Aramis sighed as he ducked deeper into the hole they were currently hiding in.  
The disturbing sound of canons echoed over the battlefield, causing the earth to vibrate where the deathly bullets met ground.

It had been almost one years since the french troops were ordered to La Rochelle. He had fought in battles before, but this one was the longest and hardest one of all. Hundreds of men, maybe thoussands, have fallen and the soldiers that were send to refill the troops grew younger with every day. Aramis himself was no boy anymore, but no man yet neither. But despite his young years he had seen more corpses than some in their entire lifes.

He didn't flinch as another canonball hit the ground only a few metres away from him. Thankfully no one satt o his right side. He ripped his gaze from the black ball and towards the other side. Boys, barely older than 16 looked at him in shock, not believing that the canonball almost hit them. They shuddered, obviously not prepared for a battle like this. They shouldn't have been send, Aramis thought bitterly. All these boys were damned to die, no one was even supposed to survive. They were there to stop the enemies long enough for the few left experienced soldiers to attack.

As the gruesome voice of his captain disturbed the sound of muskets and canons, he allowed himself to close his eyes for a short moment.

His fingers found the wooden crucifix, that hang loosely from his neck.

The latin words left his lips fluently, as he had spoken them each day in the past months. Each day anew he prayed to god to give him enough strenght to alive the next sunrise. He prayed not only for his soul, but fort he ones oft he enemies too. He knew they were only soldiers doing their duty just as he. He prayed for the boys souls, knowing that praying for their lifes would be useless.

Aramis didn't realize the curious eyes of a slightly older soldier on him. He didn't notice that the man listened closely, as he had did a few times before. The soldier smiled to himself, feeling somehow safer after the marksmans words. He didn't understad them and he never believed in god, but if this youn soldier survived this year thanks to his prayers – he may could survive this too. 

Aramis ended his hurried prayer with a kiss to his crucifix before he followed the lead of his Captain, sword drawn and musket aimed as they ran into battle again.

 **The Garrison, 1632**

„You are save brother." He whispered as he wiped the sweat from the mans brow. The light was dim in the infirmary, the few candles in the room did not give enough light in the darkness of night.  
Jacque, already too far away, didn't acknowledged Aramis' attempt of giving comfort. The fever had a tight grip not only around his body but around his mind too. After four days, it still hadn't broken and Aramis, having tempted to the infected wounds himself, knew too well that the fever won't break anytime soon. Unfortunately, Jacque didn't have the time to wait for the fever to break. He had lost too much blood as the bullet plunged into his side, ripping apart muscles and bones.

Despite all his knowledge as a field medic, Aramis wasn't able to do much but to be by the man's side day and night. He had slept only a few hours the past days, not allowing his own body rest while a good friend is suffering.

Not knowing what he could talk about – he had told already every story he knew – and seeing how the man got weaker with every hour, Aramis pulled out his bible. The books pages were creased and torn from the many times he had flicked through them. And as he did this already too many times, he found the page he searched for with ease.

„Nemo enim nostrum sibi vivit et nemo sibi moritur. Sive enim vivimus Domino vivimus sive morimur Domino morimur sive ergo vivimus sive morimur Domini sumus. In hoc enim Christus et mortuus est et revixit ut et mortuorum et vivorum dominetur." He smiled at Jacques who opened his eyes slowly, his gaze was still unfocused but he obviously knew who sat by his side as his raspy voice broke interrupted the reading.

„'Mis." Aramis took the hand of his friend, noting how cold it was by now. He didn't speak out his worry, his pain and fear as he knew that Jacques now needed his comfort. The soldier in the bed knew what was coming for him as he slightly squeezed the marksmans hand.

„I'm sorry mon ami, I forgot that you have no interests in latin." Aramis tried to laugh, but it came out weaker than intented. He was tired and scared just as Jacques. So his eyes once again scanned the page, but now the words left his lips in french as he had written them between the lines a long time ago.

„For none of us lives for ourselves alone, and none of us dies for ourselves alone. If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. For this very reason, Christ died and returned to life so that he might be the Lord of both the dead and the living."

Aramis heard the silent creak of a door and as he turned around he catched a glimpse of the familiar pauldron of Porthos. And as he turned back to Jacques, he was sure to hear the low voice of Athos whispering.

Jacques on the other hand, didn't notice any of this. He had finally let go.

Aramis mumbled a few practiced words in latin as he closed the mans eyes, his fingers trembling as he did so.

He once again looked over his shoulder, now being able to see Porthos and Athos talking in the courtyard, looking tot he infirmary every now and then with a worried look. Aramis smiled sadly as he layed tha bible into Jacques hands. „Oh dear Lord, please save these two men for just a bit more time as I can't withstand another lost of a good soul."

 **Paris, 1635**

He had talked to the priest for almost an hour, not feeling any more comforted than before. His heart still ached and his mind was still restless as he wandered back to his rooms in the Garrison.

„You are a sinne, Rene." The priests words echoed in his head as he walked into the dark room. „I can't grant you absolution. Not again." Aramis knew that the man had been right.

God may forgive your sins if you truly regretted them, but Aramis may made use oft he absolution way too much. And it seemed to be more with every week.

At first, it was only every now and then that he feeled the need to speak tot he priest. Then came the women. A new sin every night. But the women weren't the problem. God could understand that, he believed. His life as a soldiers was what plagued him.

It was not the necessity of killing men when being attacked. It had been just this morning where he had to assasinate a spanish spy. H eknew he had to do it in ordert o save more people. But killing without the person to be able tof ight back… it woudn't ever get simpler.

Aramis closed the door behind him with a sigh and kneeled in front of his bed, his hand finding in his drawer imediatly what they had searched for.

He winced as the whip made contact with his back, but it didn't broke skin. The physical pain was much bearable as the psycholigcal one. With each stroke he felt more relieved. As he felt drops of bood trickling down his skin he layed the whip down but remained kneeling.

Porthos closed the door only a moment after he had opened it. He had searched for Aramis to go with them to the tavern but as he saw what the marksman was into he decided to give him some space. Porthos never liked when Aramis practiced self-flagellation and he couldn't understand how this was a way of comfort – but he tried not to judge. He knew that many religious people did it and that it brought peace to them and if it helped Aramis to find rest for his restless soul, than he would not stop him. He had talked about it before. Aramis didn't do it often, but even he sometimes needed found peace in it.

It was late into the night as Porthos came back from the tavern and still found that a candle flickered in the window of Aramis. It was no surprise to him that the marksman was still awake, still he was worried for his friend as he knocked at his door.

Aramis didn't answer, but he often didn't as he knew Porthos would come in nevertheless. So the tall man opened the door with a creak to find his brother kneeling infront oft he bed, his back turned to him. He saw the dried blood on the white shirt and noticed the trembling in the marksmans legs. It had to be uncomfortable to kneel like this for so long.

„What is it you feel so guilty for?"

Aramis turned around to look at him as if surprised that Porthos just had talked to him. Then, the marksman sighed but didn't leave his position. „I hate killing like this. It's cowardly, dishonorable and a sin."

„I'm sorry it's always you who has to do this. But you're our best shot. Still, there is no reason to blame yourself Aramis. It's your duty and you're protecting people with doing it!" The marksman shook is head as he stood up slowly, wincing only a short moment as his knees arched.

„Thank you for your comforting words, mon ami. But I fear they won't bring me the peace I am searching for." Aramis offered his friend a weak smile, who accepted it with a nod.  
Porthos knew his friend long enough to know that it won't help to talk about this anylonger. 

**Notre-Dame, 1643**

„He will have a good place in heaven. He deserves some peace." Aramis said quietly as they walked out oft he search, just behind the queen and the dauphin.

None of his brothers answered, as they were all too lost in their sorrow. Still, they apprecated his words, finding that they brought a little reassurance to their hearts.

„You know, he always watched over us from the balcony and up there he still will do." He laid his head into his neck to look into the bright blue sky, a small smile on his lips as his deep faith gave him strength. „Treville will never be completly gone. He still lives in our hearts and in every day the Musketeers exist. We should honor his life, not give up ours for grief and sorrow."

Porthos placed a hand on his friends shoulder, squeezing it slightly as to say ‚thank you'.

„You always had enough faith for all of us, mon ami." Athos answered, the pain audible in his voice.

And as so often, his undying hope and optimism was enough for all of them.

When they didn't believe, he prayed. And when they didn't see light, he inflamed a candle. When they drowned their pain in alcohol and loneliness, he gave them company and filled the room with laughter.


	26. What once has been

Eric had been so concentrated on parrying the blows that rained down on him that he didn't have the opportunity to look where he was walking to until his back collided with it.

He winced as he felt a sharp edge sinking into his back, letting his blade drop. Maurice stopped in his movement surprised, eyes wide.  
"Are you okay?"

Eric nodded, pushing himself off the beam with the nail in it. "Just managed to get stuck on this nail." He muttered and bowed to retrieve his weapon.

Maurice took a short look at the nail that was plunged into the beam - they wanted to have it repaired weeks ago. Then his eyes wandered to Eric's back, causing him to wince in sympathy.

"You should the Doctor look at it. The nail is quite rusty, we don't want it getting infected."

Eric sighed. He really didn't want to bother the doctor with such a minor injury, otherwise he knew Tha Maurice was right.

"I will be back in ten." He assured and walked over to the infirmary.

Just now Eric noticed that he had never actually been in there. The door was closed most of the time to give the patients some peace and fortunately he had never been one of them.  
He had seen the doctor a few times, when he had hurried out of the infirmary to help carrying a injured man inside or get some new supplies. Otherwise, he seemed to live in there - or at least Eric thought so.

He frowned as he knocked slightly. He didn't even know how the medic or was called. Everyone just called him 'Doctor'. Even the seasoned soldiers and Captain Rafael d'Artganan called him like this.  
As far as Eric knew, the doctor had been in the regiment's infirmary longer than anyone of the serving men.

"Come in." The friendly soft voice called through the door, which screached over the floor as Eric opened it.

"Good morning, and doctor." Eric tried carefully as he took a step in.

The infirmarys windows had been shut, curtains closed. A lonely man lay in one of the many beds, sleeping soundly. Or Eric hoped that he just slept.

The doctor had been standing to his right, cleaning some of the gruesome looking tools. "Eric, right?" the doctor smiled, inviting him inside.

Eric nodded, surprised that the doctor already knew him. He closed the door behind him, careful to do it as quietly as possible.

And for the first time in all his time in the regiment he really looked at the doctor. He had to be in his early sixtys now, grey long hair graced his face, wrinkled by the age but still somehow youthful. His beard was kept orderly and in the fashion, which was modern a few decades ago.  
Kind eyes looked at him, a smile on the lips, a scar stood out on his brow.

"What brought you in my humble infirmary, son?"

Eric shrugged, feeling the heat flushing into his cheeks. "A minor training accident."

"Let me see it then."  
The doctor gestured towards a stool on which Eric sat down, his back towards the medic.

His shirt was lifted high enough for the doctor to get a good look at the wound. "Let me guess.. You ran in a rusty nail?"

Ashamed, with bright red cheeks, Eric nodded. He was glad the doctor couldn't see his face right now.

He heard a soft laugh before the doctor clapped him on the shoulder gently. "You will live, son."

"Tell that Maurice." Eric also tried a laugh, but even though he was still somewhat tensed.

He heard some rustling behind him before a liquid was put on his back, burning where the wound was.  
"Don't be ashamed. Much more embarrassing things can happen to a soldier in his career."

"And that would be?" Curiosity what the doctor had experienced in his time with the regiment emerged.

"Choking on an apple, tripping over a stone and breaking a foot, passing out on guard duty because of the heat, almost drowning in a river not deeper that the waist.. Oh I could go on forever." The doctor laughed as he crunched some herbs in order to make a paste for the wound.

"That really happened to some men?" Eric asked amused, forgotten the embarrassment.

"Not to any men. To the best of the best. Athos choked on the apple, D'Artagnan passed out and Porthos almost drowned."

"Rafael D'Artagnan?" is Eric turned his head to see the doctor who shook his head.

"His father. Charles. He had been captain before his son took over."

"So... Athos, Porthos.. You mean the inseperables? You knew them?" Excitement laced his voice. Since he had been a boy Eric had heard the tales of these heroes. They were one of the reasons he wanted to become a musketeer.

The doctor nodded smiling, putting the paste on the wound and bandaging it." It should be fine now, son."

"And what about Aramis? He tripped and broke a bone?"

The doctor laughed at the memories and nod. "Yes. In front of some fine ladies. It was quite an embarrassment."

Eric smiled as he stood up. "You just have been here for quite some time if you knew them, doctor."  
He turned around, ready to head out before he remembered something.  
"Did you know them well?"

A sadness overtook the smile on the doctors lips. "Like brothers."

"I'm sorry... I've heard they have passed away some time ago." he suddenly felt bad for bringing up this theme.

But the doctor wasn't angry and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"As you said: It happened long ago. It's fine. Actually I liked to talk about them. Now get out before we wake him." He indicated towards the sleeping patient.

Eric mouthed a thank you, before he left the infirmary.

Before he could close the door again a woman hurried towards it and held it open to enter the infirmary.

He heard the happily surprised voice of the doctor greet the woman. "Constance. How are you?"

"Aramis. I've got news for you. "

With a thud, the door closed leaving Eric stunned as he puzzled the parts together.

"Maurice! I've got news for you!"


End file.
